


The No Crush Clause

by nebulastucky



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Bisexual Jo Harvelle, F/F, Gay Castiel, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M, Minor Charlie Bradbury/Jo Harvelle, Minor Charlie Bradbury/Meg Masters, Minor Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, Minor Violence, Pining, Punk Castiel, Slow Build, Token Straight Character, benny is hungry all the time, everyone is a massive fucking nerd, everyone is really queer, like honestly its concerning, lots of marvel references, well i mean its not really minor its just not graphic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-17 08:05:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5860816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nebulastucky/pseuds/nebulastucky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has known Charlie since they were six. Charlie has known Cas since they were ten, when she started going to art camp for half the summer every year. Cas doesn't go to camp the summer of their sophomore year, so Charlie figures he's outgrown it. When he shows up at Lawrence High for the first time on the third day of junior year, wearing all black, right up to his eyeliner, nothing is all that different - but everything changes.</p><p>Or: the one where Dean’s heart is won with a tongue piercing, treehouse slumber parties, and lots of Avengers references.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dean Winchester has never been good at dealing with crushes.

Granted, he hasn't really had a serious one since Lisa Braeden in middle school, but he didn't exactly handle that one spectacularly well, either. Or, at all.

(He kissed her during recess, she asked him to be her Boyfriend, he panicked and ignored her for two years.)

Sure, he likes to think he's a ladies' man - doesn't mind other people thinking it either - but really, he's about the least smooth person on the planet, especially when it actually matters. Which is why all the "relationships" he's ever had have ended after two weeks of heavy-duty make-out sessions in supply closets, with little to no heartbreak on either side. He's never really cared about those girls - always girls, because even though he's out as bisexual, he's never really had the nerve to even think about going after a guy - and he's pretty sure he was only with most of them to not be single.

And then along comes Castiel Novak in junior year of high school, and Dean's strict No Crush policy goes out the window. Charlie - of course it's Charlie, she knows Cas is exactly Dean's type - introduces them the Wednesday morning halfway through September that Cas shows up at Lawrence High for the first time.

"Is this the guy you go to camp with?" Dean asks almost immediately after Charlie has released Cas from her tackle-hug.

"Is this the guy you're always calling an asshole?" Cas asks, shaking Dean's hand and throwing him a smirk.

"Yes and yes," Charlie says, and when Dean gives her a look, she adds, "in the most affectionate way possible, obviously, you asshole."

They stand and chat for five minutes before the bell rings, and Charlie and Dean have to go to chemistry, and Cas has a meeting with Principal Campbell.

 

* * *

 

Castiel Novak has dark hair and blue eyes that look like they have an ocean trapped in them.

Castiel Novak was named after an angel, and Dean thinks that might be the most beautiful irony in the world.

Castiel Novak wears eyeliner and black clothes and has his ears, lip, tongue, and eyebrow pierced, and smirks like the devil.

Castiel Novak is _definitely not_ the only thing Dean can think about until Cas joins him and Charlie at lunch.

* * *

 

"So, Dean Winchester," Castiel says two minutes after sitting across from him, "what are you to the great and noble Charlie Bradbury?"

Cas has this weird air of formality in his voice, and Dean wonders if it'll wear off with time or of this is just how Cas is.

"Um," Dean says. Smooth. "Charlie's been my best friend since we were, like, six. She lives across the street from me. I'm her, uh, handmaiden every other weekend."

Cas nods, smirks in that way Dean can't decide if he likes. Then, "You ever wanted to fuck her?"

Charlie groans. "Jesus Christ, you don't beat around the bush, do you?"

"Hoping he doesn't either."

Dean full on snorts at that, and that's it, he's lost the last shred of his cool that he'd managed to retain after that question.

"Dude," Dean says, "that's practically incest."

Castiel laughs, and it looks almost involuntary.

"Are we forgetting the fact that I'm literally gayer than Christmas?" Charlie says, and Cas shrugs.

"Besides," Dean says, and flicks a pea at her, "she's a fuckin' nerd."

"Nice, Winchester," Charlie deadpans. "Classy."

They eat in silence for about thirty seconds before Castiel speaks.

"I am too, by the way," he says to no one in particular.

"You am what?" Dean asks, since Charlie's got her mouth full.

"Gay as hell. Probably gayer."

He says it so matter of fact that Dean almost feels stupid for not knowing already, like, _of course Cas is gay. Jesus, dude, and you want to be a fucking engineer?_

"Seriously?" Charlie says, and she hasn't even swallowed her food yet. Dean feels a little less stupid now.

"Yeah," Cas says. "Strictly dickly."

Charlie gets a very exaggerated look of realisation on her face. "Is that why you weren't at camp this year?"

"Yeah, actually," Cas says, and he's smirking again. "My dad sent me to bible camp."

Dean almost chokes on a stray breadcrumb. "That's an actual thing? I thought my dad made that up."

"Whatever he wanted that camp to, uh, _fix_ , stayed broken. I came out of six weeks at that place with the numbers of eight different guys, and no virginity."

He gets a high five from Charlie for that one, but Dean's trying to figure out what to do with that information - and the weird flush he feels creeping up his neck. He just prays his collar is high enough that no one sees.

Except he's Dean Winchester, and when has praying ever done him any good?

So of course someone sees, and of course it's goddamn Zachariah Milton, because _of course_ he's walking past their table to his asshole friends right at this very second.

"You blushing, Winchester?" Zachariah says, stopping in his tracks. He says it with this _snarl_ that makes Dean want to punch him in his stupid fucking face. "That your new _boyfriend_ , Winchester? Emo boy got you all hot and bothered, faggot?"

Dean curls his hands into fists under the table, Cas glances over his shoulder and smirks.

"Who's this clown?" he says with this weird air of superiority, but, like, not in a douchey way. In a kind of, _I'm better than you because I'm not a total asshole_ way. Castiel turns in his seat so that he's looking right at Zachariah and leaning casually against the table.

"Firstly," Cas says, and his tone makes Dean unsure of who exactly is going to get their ass handed to them on a paper plate in this situation, "I'm not _emo_. It's called punk, asshole, heard of it? Secondly, I don't like your tone. And finally, so fucking what if I'm Dean Winchester's boyfriend?"

Dean blushes harder. He's pretty sure that he's never actually blushed in his entire life before this conversation, and that his body is making up for lost time.

"I'm _not_ ," Cas continues, "but I'm sure he's a delight and that I'd be lucky to have him. Would it _bother_ you if I were Dean's boyfriend? Would it upset you if we were _together_ in a _relationship_ , you homophobic piece of shit?"

And suddenly Zachariah is all up in Cas's space, and Cas doesn't even blink, just smirks in that way that he does.

"I get it,” Zach spits, “you're new here, and you think you're hot shit, so you wanna stand up to the big guys who can fucking squish you like a bug. So here's some advice, faggot: learn your fucking place. You don't _get_ to talk to me."

And then Zachariah Milton is gone with a final, "See you in training, Winchester," and Dean and Charlie both let out a long breath.

"Jesus, Cas," Charlie says, "you're gonna get yourself killed."

"He's gonna get _me_ killed," Dean huffs, "I'm on the damn wrestling team with the guy."

"Zachariah Milton's _captain_ of the wrestling team," Charlie says.

"And the football team," Dean adds.

"So?" Cas says. "He's an asshole. He used the word _faggot_ , for fuck sake. My dad doesn't even use that. The _Bible camp counselors_ didn't use that. I'm not gonna just sit here and let some neanderthal use a sexuality that doesn't even apply to Dean as an _insult_ , especially when it fucking applies to _me_."

Dean watches Zachariah with his asshole friends on the other side of the cafeteria, probably giving a wildly inaccurate account of what just happened. He sees three football players glare in their table's general direction, and Dean turns his attention back to Charlie and Cas.

"Well, shit, Cas," Dean says, "guess I gotta thank you now."

He tosses a napkin at Cas. "A token of my appreciation, o knight in black eyeliner, for defending my honour."

Castiel smirks, and bows as much as he can in his seat. "My pleasure, fair maiden. 'Tis but a gentleman's duty."

The Charlie laughs and ruins it because, "Cas said duty."

"God, what are you, four?" Cas says in - mostly - mock disgust.

"Hey, fuck you," Charlie retorts. "Some of us are still young at heart."

"And in height," Dean mutters.

Charlie slams her first on the table as hard as she can, which, admittedly, is not very hard. "You wanna fucking go, Winchester?"

Dean waits.

Then, "Ow, shit, that _hurt_ , Jesus Christ on a fucking _unicycle_ , that hurt."

Dean laughs, and Cas doesn't even bother smirking, just laughs along with him.

 

* * *

 

Thursday is an entirely uneventful school day, up until the final bell sets the normal people free. The "normal" people being Cas and Charlie and everyone else who isn't on a team or in a club, and the "not normal" people being Dean and the rest of the wrestling team.

The wrestling team led by Zachariah Milton.

Who, _conveniently_ , is paired with Dean for offense-defense drills. That's just Dean's luck, though, isn't it?

After being thrown on the ground for the fifth time in a row - because Zachariah "needs to work on his throws" - Dean's starting to think that Zach's got some kind of personal beef with him, and he's getting pretty tired of it. He opens his mouth to speak, but then every wisp of breath is knocked out of him by Zachariah Milton landing on him elbow-first.

Zach's about to pull Dean into a headlock that would probably render him unconscious when he taps out. Zach releases him, and Dean pushes him as far away as possible with his very limited strength - he can thank the lack of oxygen to his brain for that one - while he gets his breath back.

"What the fuck, man?" Dean pants.

Zachariah gives him a snarl that confirms that he was not play fighting, that hurting Dean was intentional, that he might actually be trying to kill Dean.

"What is your _damage?_ " Dean huffs, and gulps down a third of his water.

"Is this about Novak?" Dean asks, and he's almost got his breath back.

"No, fucknuts, it's about the fuckin' science fair," Zachariah says, and throws in an eye roll for good measure. "Yes, it's about goddamn Novak. Guy needs to be taught a lesson."

"So you're gonna punish _me_ , because he called you out on your bullshit? I'm not saying you should go after Cas, because you fucking shouldn't - if you even touch Cas I'll fucking kill you - but this seems like a dumb way to go about it, even for you, Milton."

And then Zachariah pulls the same move he did on Cas, and gets up in Dean's face so that there's barely any room for him to breathe any air that doesn't smell like sweat and idiot.

"Eat a dick, Winchester," Zachariah says, practically spitting in Dean's face and giving him god knows what disease.

"Maybe I will," Dean says, and pushes Zachariah away from him onto his back, "haven't you heard? I'm into that."

"Can't believe my sister dated a faggot. Damn, and I thought she was dumb for going out with you in the first place."

Dean tries to copy Cas's smirk when he says, "It's called bisexuality, asshole, heard of it?"

And then Coach “Call me Crowley”  announces that they're done for the day, and Dean doesn't even bother hitting the showers, just walks right out of the school and jumps into the back of Charlie's car.

"I just came out to Zachariah Milton," is all he says, and then they're driving off into what would be a cheesy sunset if it weren't four in the afternoon.


	2. Chapter 2

It takes two days for Castiel Novak to be officially accepted and adopted by Dean’s friend group. They're more of a clique, really, but Dean hates that term, so a while back Charlie insisted that they come up with a name for themselves. “Nerds with Swords” and “Fucking Losers” were tossed around until someone - probably Charlie herself, though she vehemently denies it - shouted “Charlie's Angels,” and it stuck.

Friday brings Cas’s first trip to the Roadhouse, and the beginning of his official inauguration as the fifth member of their team. (Sixth if you count Sam, and Dean usually does.)

But, of course, Jo is working that night, so they take their usual booth by the window and no one has to be squished. Dean sits on one side with Benny, Cas and Charlie across from them, and tries not to brush his leg against anyone else’s under the table.

Jo spends ten minutes taking their orders, even though she only needs to take Cas’ - Roadhouse Classic burger, mayo on the side, extra bacon, and a cherry Coke - since Dean, Charlie, and Benny have been eating here since they were tall enough to see over the bar.

When Jo brings their food, Charlie complains loudly and exaggeratedly about missing fries(“I got hungry on the way over, what do you want from me?”), Dean says his burger bun has too many sesame seeds, and Benny demands to speak to a supervisor about foul language and name-calling from a certain blonde waitress.(“Bite me, Lafitte.”)

Jo flips them off and disappears to take orders from actual customers, and Dean decides to provide Cas with a bit of backstory.

“Jo’s mom, Ellen, owns the Roadhouse,” he says around a bite of his Double Bacon Cheese Deluxe. “Jo’s stepdad was a marine with my dad - he's basically my uncle. Married Ellen after living with her for four years. After Jo’s dad died in a freak hunting accident, Bobby took Ellen in, and they relocated here to get away from Sioux Falls, right next door to Casa Winchester. I’ve been hangin’ out with Jo since we were in diapers.”

Dean finishes his burger in one last bite and wipes his mouth before continuing - only he can't continue right away, because Cas is licking ketchup off his fingers, and he can't keep his eyes off Cas’ damn mouth, and Charlie is giving him a weird look. She kicks him under the table and he clears his throat awkwardly.

“Me and Jo met Benny at camp one year,” Dean says finally, but his voice has lost whatever confidence it had twenty seconds ago. “He was in the same cabin as me and like three other assholes who didn't particularly like either of us -”

“Can't imagine why,” Charlie mutters.

“Fuck off, Charlie.”

“Really, it's just such a _mystery-”_

 _“So_ me and Benny stuck together, I introduced him to Jo, and we've basically been inseparable since.”

“ _Gosh,_ ” Jo says, pulling up a chair at the end of the table, between Benny and Cas, “when you say it like that it almost sounds romantic rather than _tragic_ , Dean.”

“Hey, I’m nothing if not romantic,” Dean protests.

Charlie outright snorts at that. “Yeah, you're romantic and I’m dating Scarlett Johansson.”

“Could you get her to slip Chris Evans my phone number next time you see her?” Cas asks, completely serious. “It's important, I want to sleep with him.”

Dean feels uncomfortable at that statement. He doesn't know why, and he really doesn't want to _think_ about why, so he clears his throat loudly.

“What time are you off at tonight, Jo?” he asks, all casual.

“Nine thirty,” Jo says, not even bothering to swallow the last of the fries she's been finishing off for the last few minutes.

Benny glances at his watch. “It's eight fifteen now. What are we doing tonight?”

“Bowling?” Charlie suggests. “We haven't been bowling in, like, a month.”

“We can bowl any time,” Jo says. “I say we treat Cas to the full Charlie's Angels induction ceremony.”

“If it has anything to do with biting the head off a live chicken, I’m in,” Cas says.

Jo claps his shoulder. “I like this one.

Dean grins. “Video games and slumber party it is.”

“ _How many times, Dean,”_ Jo groans, “It happens once a week. It's not an _occasion._ We're not _twelve_. It's not a fucking slumber party.”

Dean smiles, all gums and no sincerity. “You're cute when you get all flustered like that.”

“Eat me.”

Charlie makes a face like she's about to say something disgusting - “Is that a request or a demand?” - but she's cut off by Jo standing abruptly and rolling her eyes hard enough that Dean almost thinks he can hear it.

“Jesus, just pay up and get out of my restaurant,” she mutters, “I have normal people to serve.”

Dean’s still reaching for the bill when Cas pulls out his wallet, quick as anything, throws down a fifty, winks at Dean with that stupid smirk on his face, and whispers, “My treat.”

Jo takes the money before Dean can start a fight about it, and ruffles Cas’ hair as she walks away.

“Shit, Charlie,” Benny says as he pulls on his jacket, “you got good taste in friends.”

“You're sweet, Benny, thanks,” Dean says. Charlie shoves him.

 

* * *

 

It's not until they're all piling into the Impala - Dean gets to have her on weekends, but he's pretty sure he's getting the keys for keeps on his birthday - that Dean asks the sixteen dollar question: “So, Cas, your folks loaded or what?”

From the backseat, Cas shrugs. “I guess. My dad owns a hotel in Vegas, and my mom’s a surgeon. My brother Gabriel is a fancy pastry chef in Canada somewhere, but he's always sending cash down for me, since he knows our folks are pretty shitty when it comes to allowance. So to answer your question, yeah, my parents are rolling in it. But I'm not getting a penny.”

“Hey,” Benny nudges Cas, “is your brother the same Gabe Novak from that show on the Food Network that my mom’s obsessed with?”

Cas taps his nose, and Benny's face lights up.

“Dang,” he says, “wait ‘til she hears I'm friends with a celebrity's brother.” 

Charlie turns around in her seat. “I've seen that show. I think one of the recipes gave me a cavity.” 

Dean clears this throat somewhat awkwardly. He's never seen a single episode of _Angel Food With Gabriel._ Not a single one, he _swears_. 

He looks at Cas in the rear view mirror. “You need to pick up clothes or whatever? You can just borrow mine if you like.” 

Charlie raises her eyebrows at him, like there’s a joke she's leaving unsaid. Dean pats her entire face with the palm of his hand. Cas shrugs.

“You got anything in black?”

 

* * *

 

Introducing Cas to the family goes about as well as Dean could have hoped. 

Eighty per cent of Charlie's Angels walks through the front door of Casa Winchester, and Dean leads them straight down the hallway into the kitchen. He's caught off-guard by Sam and his mother sitting at the kitchen table, but then remembers that they live in this house, too. 

Mary greets Charlie and Benny, and then her eyes fall on Cas. Dean clears his throat - he's doing a lot of that tonight, he notices - and Sam looks up from his homework.

“Mom, Sammy,” Dean says, feeling like he's introducing his boyfriend and not just a guy he's known for three days, “this is Castiel - uh, Cas. This is Cas.” 

“Smooth,” Charlie mutters from where she's leaning against the fridge. 

“Um,” Dean continues, because _he's a fucking idiot who doesn't know when to stop_. “Cas, this is my mom, and my brother Sam. 

“I gathered that,” is what Cas whispers to him before shaking hands with Mary. 

Cas exchanges a brief, “Hey,” with Sam, and that's that, meeting adjourned, horrific awkwardness overcome.

Except that doesn't happen, not for Dean Winchester. It's at this very moment that Dean's father walks in from the living room with a half-empty beer bottle in his hand. He freezes in his tracks when he sees Cas, and the world stops for a minute.(Or maybe Dean's heart does. It's hard to tell.) 

Dean has known from the very start how his father would react to the black-clad, pierced, and eyerlinered Castiel Novak. John would take the one look he's taking now, and go completely fucking insane - yelling about bad influences and bad choices, and angry whispers with Mary in the living room when he thinks Dean can't hear them about _I will not have someone like that in my home_ and probably something about Dean “turning out like this” if he doesn't stop all this _bisexual nonsense,_ because somehow it always comes back to that, doesn't it? 

Dean expects an outburst. A scene. Something loud. 

What he doesn't expect is exactly what John Winchester does. 

John Winchester takes his one look at Castiel Novak, and makes it a long one, and he walks right back out of the room. 

“So, uh,” Dean says after a very long and very awkward silence,”it's cool if Cas stays over, right?” 

“With the rest of the Dream Team?” Mary asks, but she doesn't sound like she's even considering saying no.

“Uh, yeah, Jo said she'll be over around ten after her shift - I'm not, like, pushing it or anything, am I?”

Mary smiles, and Dean feels Cas relax a little beside him. “You've been doing this every Friday night since you were thirteen, Dean, it's a little late for me to start objectng now.”

Dean grins at her, all teeth. “Thanks, Mom - did we get chips and dip yesterday?” He's already moving to the snack cupboard when he asks. 

“Yes, Dean, we got chips,” Sam deadpans, “just like we get chips every week, because you ask for chips _every week._ ” 

Mary gives Sam a look like she's about to scold him, but decides against it. She stands, pushes her chair in, tells Cas it was lovely to meet him, and joins her husband in the living room. There's no door between the kitchen and the living room of the Winchester house, just a wide frame. This doesn't yield for a whole lot of privacy from either room, Dean's found over the years, so it's become something of an unspoken rule that when two people wish not to have their conversation interrupted, they turn the TV up real loud and whisper like schoolgirls.

Dean hears the end of an infomercial far louder than the beginning. 

“So what're you studyin’, Sam?” Benny drawls, trying to break the silence. 

“Latin,” is all Sam says, and scribbles something in a notebook that looks like it might not endure many more scribbles. 

“They teach Latin to twelve year olds?” Cas asks, and he almost looks impressed. 

“They teach Latin to twelve year olds who're too nerdy for their own good,” Dean answers through the bag of tortilla chips he's currently holding between his teeth. 

Sam snorts. “Like you're one to talk, Dean. You've seen every superhero movie ever made - you've had Marvel on Google news alert since you learned what Google news alert _meant_.” 

Dean shoves Sam's head to the side. “I _was_ gonna invite you to join us in breaking Cas in, but if you're gonna be a little shit then I guess I won't.”

Charlie grabs a six-pack of Coke from the fridge and rolls her eyes. “C’mon boys, this is getting petty. Mario Kart won't play itself.” 

Benny drags Dean out by the arm, and Cas follows, with a quick, “Seeya,” to Sam. 

Dean's room - where Charlie marches them and immediately goes for the iPod jack - is not as tidy as he thought he'd left it this morning. His bed is unmade, there are dirty clothes on the floor _vaguely near_ his laundry hamper, his closet is open and overflowing just the _slightest amount_ , and he's pretty sure there's some pizza crust still lying around from last weekend. 

The walls are a tacky shade of brown that Dean has spent his entire life trying to cover with posters of rock bands, movies, cars, _anything,_ and the carpet - well, the carpet is _there_ , and it doesn't really look like it'll be leaving anytime soon.

Dean throws the chips to Cas, who, not even surprisingly, isn't paying attention and lets them fall to the floor. 

“Good thing you didn't have the soda, I guess,” Cas shrugs. 

“You'd be paying the carpet bill,” Dean says from the floor, where he's currently fiddling with the game station. He makes a loud noise of protest when Charlie moves away from the iPod jack, letting Taylor Swift play on full blast.

Charlie rolls her eyes at him. “Shut up, I know you like it,” she says, and dances her way over to one of the four beanbags considerately sacrificed by Sam every Friday night. She flops gracelessly onto it, and sighs, like she's been waiting for this all day.

“As I recall from camp field trips to the arcade,” she says, “Cas here is fucking _terrible_ at Mario Kart.” 

Cas sits into the bag next to her and takes the controller Dean offers. “That sense of security you've got there, Charlie?” Cas says, “Completely false.” 

“Them’s fightin’ words, Cas,” Benny says from Charlie's other side, through a mouthful of chips. 

Cas shrugs, and selects Waluigi. “I'm in a fighting mood, man.”

Charlie picks Luigi, Dean picks Yoshi, and Benny chooses Toad. 

“First cup, no teams,” Dean says. “Time to put your money where your mouth is, Novak.”

“Press the damn button, Winchester, or money’ll be the _only_ thing near my mouth.” 

Dean is caught so off guard by that statement - _threat? offer? -_ that he doesn't realise he's been revving his virtual engine _since the start of the countdown_ until he stalls - _in eighth place -_ at the klaxon, and the others dissolve into chaos.

No one is silent. Granted, it's mostly them yelling at their characters to _go faster, dammit,_ until the first set of items.

Charlie gets a speed boost and snags third place, proclaiming, “Let's go, bitches!” 

Her victory is short-lived, however, because approximately three seconds later, Cas storms past her and straight into first place.

“You were saying?” Cas asks. She kicks him off his beanbag.

“Eat blue shell, asshat,” Dean all but _yells_.

“Motherfucker,” Cas mutters as Waluigi is blown sky high. “You'll pay for that one, Dean.” 

“First name basis now, are we?” comes from Benny, who shoots a red shell at Luigi, earning a “Shitface,” from Charlie. 

Cas wins the first race so hard that Benny barely manages to finish in sixth place. 

No one passes Waluigi in the second race.

He wins the third by a mile. 

Dean almost beats him in the fourth, but a strategic red shell and a “Hey, chickenfucker,” later, Waluigi is crossing the finish line with a perfect game. 

“You cheated,” is the only conclusion Charlie can come to. 

“How the _fuck_ do you cheat at Mario Kart?” Dean asks her.

“Last time I played Cas, he came last,” she insists. “ _Twelve times in a row._ ”

“ _Chickenfucker?_ ” is Benny’s only contribution. 

Dean and Charlie are bickering about who gets Cas on their team for the next cup when Jo walks in, grabs a pillow, and hits Dean in the face with it, effectively ending the debate.

“That's for not leaving a tip,” she says.

“Okay, yeah, that's fair,” Cas concedes. 

Dean and Charlie go back to bickering.

“Oh my _god_ ,” Jo mutters. She snatches up Super Smash Bros from the floor and tosses it at Charlie. “See if you can beat him on this."

Dean and Jo share a look when Cas laughs, “Good luck, Winchester, you'll fuckin’ need it.”

Dean fake-laughs like that's the funniest thing he's ever heard. 

“I'm not playing, Cas,” he explains, and hands the controller to Jo. “ _She is._ ”

“Should I be scared?” Cas asks. “Because I'm feeling a very distinct lack of terror right now." 

“Watch yourself, Novak,” Jo threatens quietly, and she selects Link. Charlie picks the Pokémon Trainer, and Benny chooses Sonic. In a very flamboyant display of cockiness, completed by a shit-eating grin that Dean finds himself somewhat unnerved by, Cas selects the Wii Fit Instructor as his champion. 

Only it turns out not to be cockiness, not entirely, it's genuine _confidence_ , because Cas _wipes the floor_ with the rest of them.

After many, many expletives from Jo as Link flies off the screen for the last time, Cas flashes Dean his sweetest smile.

(It turns into a toothy grin as soon as he sees the blush creeping up Dean's face, the asshole.)

“What was it you were saying earlier, Dean?” Cas asks as gently as his eyeliner and piercings will allow.

Dean looks at him for a long minute - _don't look at his lips don't look at his lips don't look at his lips_ \- before going bright red and muttering, “Shut up.” 

“Have your egos suffered enough of a blow, or do you want a rematch?” Cas asks the room as a whole, a subtle trace of arrogance slipping into his voice.

“You've made your point, fuckface,” Charlie says. “Movie?”

 

* * *

 

They spend almost an hour trying to pick a movie. 

“Dean,” Charlie pleads, “we've watched Avengers Assemble at _least_ eight times.” 

“It's quality cinematography,” Dean protests. “Besides, we haven't watched it with Cas yet.” 

Cas sips his Coke. “Seen it. Like, five times.” 

Dean sighs. “Antman?” 

Jo and Charlie yell at him about the Bechdel test and _fucking pointless romantic subplots_ for five minutes.

They've moved to Dean's treehouse now. It's probably not even fair to call it a treehouse - it's basically a house that just happens to be in a tree _._ It's got a tiny generator on the roof - John and Bobby bitched about it the entire time they were installing it - that has enough power for a full Harry Potter marathon - Dean and Charlie did that once, it was awesome - on the old TV-DVD combo resting on what was the “coffee table” when Dean and Jo and were little.

Back then Sam, Dean, Jo, and Charlie would play pirates or ghostbusters or astronauts or superheroes all day every day, only ever stopping for snacks. The year Dean and Jo decided not to go to camp, the year before they met Benny, was the year the treehouse became a tree _home_ . They were eleven, and tired of being pirates or ghostbusters or astronauts or superheroes, and Sam was starting to get his own friends and his own ideas of what was _cool_ \- fighting imaginary aliens just didn't cut it anymore - so what was stopping them? 

Bobby and John dealt with the manual labour - even though Dean and Jo, especially Jo, _insisted_ they could help - involved in closing up all the open spaces and insulating and putting in _double glazed windows_ and setting up a damn _TV._ Dean and Jo got to be in charge of decoration, but they couldn't agree on a colour for the walls. They ended up putting a cover on the floor and just going _insane_ with splatters of pink and blue and purple as what might be green, only Dean doesn't remember having a can of lime green handy that day.

It occurs to Dean every now and then that even their younger selves knew the significance of those colours.

They've had the same fancy-ass purple carpet, mini-fridge, and six sleeping bags in the treehouse for as long as any of them can remember. This is where Charlie's Angels have slept every Friday night for the last four years, where they come to do their homework three days a week, where the have their Deep Meaningful Conversations at two in the morning when none of them can sleep. 

This treehouse might be Dean's favourite place - maybe favourite _thing_ \- in the world, and he thinks that's just a little fucking sad.

 

* * *

 

They decide to watch The Breakfast Club, mostly because there's five of them now - maybe they can relate. Romantic subplots aside, obviously.

(Dean has to remind himself of the obviousness when Cas fiddles with his lip ring.)

They don't really watch the movie that closely, though, it's mostly just on. 

Carlie spends a lot of time insulting Dean in increasingly creative ways, because he keeps throwing popcorn - provided by Sam, who joined them for the first half-hour of the movie, and then didn't come back after a text from one of his nerd friends - at her. Eventually Cas comes to her rescue, and seats himself between them, but then Dean starts throwing popcorn at _him_.

Between Dean being an ass and Benny stuffing his face, they're out of snacks completely before the dance number makes an appearance. No one can be bothered getting up, so that's that, they resign themselves to being snackless for the rest of the movie. This leads to idle mouths, so by the time the “completely unscripted” - Dean doesn't buy that for a second - Emotional Bonding Scene shows up, they're chatting up a storm. 

“I've never had detention,” Cas confesses.

“I find that hard to believe,” Jo snorts.

“No, seriously. I've been suspended, though. Twice.”

“No, wait, what the fuck?” Dean asks. “You've never had detention, but you've been suspended _twice_ ? Charlie, you've been hanging out with a _delinquent_ for six years.”

“The fuck did you do, man?” Jo demands. 

Cas shrugs. “Some asshole was giving me a hard time, so I broke his nose. And his jaw.” 

Charlie grins at him. “Tell them about the other one, it's so much more fun.”

“If by fun you mean utterly humiliating and a little homophobic, then sure.” 

“What was the other time?” Benny asks, and they're all leaning towards Cas now.

“I'm pretty sure the school described it as, um,” Cas says, and Dean thinks this is the first time he's ever heard Cas sound embarrassed, “a vastly inappropriate assault on another student.”

Charlie looks at Cas like he's her hero, while the others give him identical looks that say they _think_ they know what he means, and they _think_ they should be disgusted,  but they're not totally _sure._

Cas sighs. “I got caught going down on the captain of the school's football team.” 

“Jesus, man,” Dean says, a little breathless. He has to work _really hard_ not to picture that scenario. “You're a fuckin’ _animal._ ”

Cas just shrugs, like he doesn't know exactly what a mental image like that would do to Dean's self control. “It was an all-boys Catholic school. Plenty of “straight” guys -” he fucking uses air quotes, too, what a _dork “_ \- who needed to “get it out of their system” - I was just trying to help.”

Charlie and Jo each give him a high-five, and Benny looks like he might shake his hand.

“What happened to the football player?” Benny asks.

“He was a football player, what do you think happened?” Cas groans. “He got off with a week's detention. I almost got _expelled._ ”

“Keep it in your pants next time, dude,” Jo offers.

“It _was_ in my pants,” Cas protests. “ _His_ was the only one _out_ of pants.”

Cas has to save Charlie from hitting her head when she falls over laughing.

“Nice,” Benny grimaces. “Classy.” 

It's at this moment that Dean remembers how goddamn _straight_ Benny is.

“Uh oh, guys,” Dean mutters, “I think we upset the resident hetero.”

“Eat a dick, Winchester,” Benny says, but there's no real malice behind it.

“Funny,” Dean thinks aloud, “Zachariah Milton said the same thing to me yesterday.” 

No one is really surprised that when Charlie speaks, it's from Jo’s lap. “Yeah, what the hell? You never told us what happened yesterday.” 

And so Dean recounts his tale of woe - complete with voices and overdramatisations - from Zach Milton almost killing him, to defending Cas with what may well have been his dying breath, to defending Cas with what might well have been his final breath, to coming out to the guy who probably hates him the most in the world. 

“Jesus, dude,” Jo whispers.

“I'm pretty sure he still thinks I'm gay,” Dean shrugs. “So that'll probably still be something I have to deal with.” 

“Not if Cas has a say in it,” Charlie practically _giggles_. 

“Are you drunk?” Dean scoffs. “Why would Cas bother defending me? He's got himself to worry about.”

Cas flicks Dean in the head. “Maybe because I'm your friend, dumbass.” 

Dean opens his mouth to protest - Cas is still the New Kid, and stands out like a _literal black sheep_ , and hangs out exclusively with the fucking Queer Club, so Jesus, doesn't he have enough on his plate? - but Cas moves in front of him so that the knees of their crossed legs are touching, and he puts his hands on Dean's shoulders.

He looks Dean dead in the eye and says, “My friends are my family. Family means nobody gets left behind or forgotten. 

Dean's mouth is dry when he asks, “Did you just Lilo and Stitch me?”

Cas smiles. Dean's pretty sure it's the first time he's seen Cas really _smile_ \- it's the first one that's not sarcastic, that's not making fun of anything, that's not a smirk instead of an answer. It's the first one that's really genuine - Dean will never admit this to anyone ever - and it's the best smile Dean's ever seen.

“You bet your ass I did,” Cas says, and that smirk is back in place of the smile that may or may not have taken Dean's breath away. “Now shut up with your fucking self-deprecation, it's bringing everyone down. I won't have anyone speaking badly of my friends.”

“God, Cas, who knew you were such a softie?” Jo teases.

“You speak a word of this to anyone outside this treehouse and I'll kill you like you just killed the moment,” is Cas’ immediate response.

Dean laughs, and claps Cas on the shoulder. “I can loan you some cash if you need to pick up a couple burn heals after that, Jo.”

“She's right, though,” Charlie says. “Cas is a big ol’ teddy bear, really, he just hides it under eyeliner and dumb jokes.”

“My jokes are _not_ dumb,” Cas protests. “I'll have you know that sarcasm is the highest form of humour.”

Dean pokes him in the side. “What about the puns?”

“Okay, I admit that those are pretty bad, but puns are _supposed_ to be bad, to _technically_ -”

Jo throws a pillow at his face. When it falls to Cas’ lap, the look on his face makes Dean think he might just commit that murder _anyway_. But then Cas cracks, and he laughs like he's been holding it in all night. He rests his head on Dean's shoulder while he shakes, and Dean thinks it might look like he was crying if it weren't for the ridiculous grin on his face.

 

* * *

 

“Anyone else in the mood for pizza?” Benny asks.

“It's three in the morning and you want _pizza_ ?” Jo snaps. “Do you ever _stop_ eating?”

“I'm not eating right now,” Benny says quietly. “Which is kind of why I want pizza.”

Charlie sits up in her sleeping bag. “I'm always up for pizza.”

Cas raises a hand, nothing else. “Seconded.”

“Thirded,” Dean sighs 

“That's not a word, Dean,” Cas says. His voice is thick with almost-sleep.

“I do what I want, Novak.”

“Wordsmithing, apparently.”

“Who do you think I am, Cas? Google?”

“No, Google would know that _thirded_ is not a word.”

“Oh my god, shut up, it's three in the morning,” Charlie groans. “Are we getting pizza or not?”

“Someone throw me my phone, I have Domino’s on speed dial,” Benny says.

Dean throws Benny his phone. It hits him in the face. Dean giggles while Benny swears. 

“You're such a little _girl_ ,” Benny hisses. 

“Wow, misogyny much?” Cas deadpans.

“Well fuck your entire gender too, Benny,” Charlie says. 

Dean sits up. “Hey, that includes me.”

“Collateral,” Charlie reasons.

Benny unlocks his phone, and the entire group almost goes blind. There's a chorus of, “Jesus, fuck,” followed by a quiet cry of, “Sorry, sorry,” from Benny.

“What are we even getting?” Jo asks. 

Dean and Cas both say, “Pepperoni,” at the same time. 

“Extra bacon,” Charlie adds.

“And like three things of garlic bread,” Cas says. 

“I'm not sleeping next to you all night if you have garlic breath,” Charlie says.

“I don't remember _asking_ you to,” Cas tells her. “I'll just sleep with Dean, instead.” 

“You wanna rephrase that one, buddy?” Dean suggests, thankful that it's still dark enough that Cas can't see the blush _definitely not_ heating up his entire face.

“Shh, it's ringing,” Benny says, and for once everyone listens to him. Dean guesses that pizza is more important than being an asshole in the background of a phone call. 

Benny places their order and tells the person on the other end of the line to bring the food to the treehouse out back, that the gate’s unlocked. 

“Does anybody have cash?” Dean asks. When Cas raises a hand, he adds, “Anyone _other_ than Cas?”

“I might have a twenty on me somewhere,” Jo says, and begins rooting around her person. She finds $27 in her bra. 

Charlie grins in the moonlight. “I love it when my pizza money comes from someone else's boobs.”

 

* * *

 

The pizza girl - “Suck it, Benny, you owe me five bucks,” is whispered by Charlie - shows up no fewer than sixteen minutes later.(Apparently there aren't that many people on the roads at three thirty in the morning.)

Charlie flirts with her - even more shamelessly than usual, Dean is almost impressed - and actually gets her number before she leaves with a wink and a Special Smile just for Charlie.

Cas takes a bite of garlic bread and makes a downright _inappropriate_ sound - Dean puts it about halfway between Socially Acceptable Food Moan and This Is An Actual Orgasm. 

“You two need a private room?” Dean asks, and Cas glares at him.

“I'm just appreciating this culinary masterpiece,” Cas says, and doesn't even bother swallowing his bite.

“ _Culinary masterpiece_? It's take-out pizza, man, not fuckin’ caviar.”

“You're right, Dean,” Cas agrees. “Caviar tastes like shit.”

“You got a lot of experience with the taste of shit, Novak?” Benny asks around a slice of pizza.

Cas rolls his eyes and turns his glare from Dean to Benny. “Yes, Benny, from all the homosexual ass I've eaten. Shut the fuck up, man, I don't know what shit tastes like.”

“I feels so attacked right now,” Benny frowns.

“Deal with it, straightie,” Dean says, and throws an uneaten piece of crust at him. “More importantly, Cas, you've had fuckin’ caviar?”

Cas nods, and finishes his second slice of garlic bread. “Not all it's cracked up to be. ‘M pretty sure no one actually likes it. But it's expensive, so people pretend it's the greatest thing in the fuckin’ world.”

“Huh,” Charlie says. “Kind of like kids, then.”

“ _Exactly_ like kids.”

“Man, I do not want kids,” Dean huffs a short laugh. “Can you imagine me as a dad?”

The group is silent for a moment, and Dean worries he's accidentally started something serious. It's not until Charlie breaks the silence that he actually breathes.

She puts on her best Dean voice. “ _Bobby-John, put down that math book this instant and go build a car or something, no lollygagging!”_

‘I don't say _lollygagging_ ,” Dean huffs.

“You just did,” Cas says.

“Screw you, Cas.”

“Not a _bad_ idea,” Cas muses, “though I'm usually the screw _er_ rather than the screw _ee_.”

“You sure are sharing a lot about your sex life tonight, buddy,” Jo says with a very pained look on her face.

“It's a slumber party, isn't that protocol?”

“I don't know what slumber parties you went to in Illinois, but here in Kansas people don't take very kindly to folks talkin’ about who's puttin’ whose dick in whose ass,” Benny says, and he sounds so much like his mother Dean thinks Mrs Lafitte may well be in his treehouse.

“Well,” Charlie says, “it certainly won't be _my_ ass.”

Cas pats her on the head and gives her a gummy smile. “That's perfectly fine, Charlie, and the Lord forgives you.”

Charlie grins as sarcastically as possible and flips him off.

 

* * *

 

The night finishes like any other gathering of Charlie's Angels, only with one extra member: Jo and Benny pass out almost as soon as the conversation comes to a natural end, Dean and Charlie - and Cas, now, too - fall asleep in the middle of a whispered discussion, and the three a.m. pizza boxes sit on top of the TV, forgotten until the morning when they'll probably start to smell.

When Cas falls asleep next to Dean, he _does_ have garlic breath, and Dean nearly chokes on it, but he finds he doesn't really mind that much.

(Until he wakes up at seven and the garlic breath is halfway to _morning_ breath, and he almost suffocates.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am super sorry abt how long this took but i did warn u


	3. Chapter 3

Dean wakes with his head on Cas’ shoulder, and his face buried in Cas’ neck.

His first real, conscious thought is a hope that Charlie is still asleep - because if she sees this he’ll never hear the end of it. His second thought is - morning breath notwithstanding - that Cas smells _really good_. His third and final thought is a quiet wish to take that last one back.

Dean sits up, rubs sleep from his eyes. Cas makes what can only be described by Dean’s groggy brain as a _disappointed huff,_ but Dean elects to ignore it, on account of having _just_ woken up. He figures he probably imagined it, anyway.

He nudges Charlie awake enough to flip him the bird for waking her.

Benny is snoring loudly in the corner, and Dean knows better than to wake him, so he decides to leave that sleeping dragon untickled. 

He wakes Jo with several pokes in the face, and her groaning wakes Cas. Dean is almost glad he didn’t have to do it himself.

Castiel Novak is, unsurprisingly, not a morning person. 

“What time is it?” he grumbles, not even sitting up.

Dean checks his phone. “Two thirty.”

Cas groans. “That’s, like, the middle of the night. Why are you awake at such an ungodly hour?” 

Charlie sits up and looks at them all with sleep-crusted eyes.

“C’mon, Cas,” Dean pleads, “I’ll make pancakes.”

Benny jerks awake with a loud snort at the mention of food. Jo rolls her eyes.

Dean pokes Cas in the shoulder. “You can have my bacon.” 

“You never give _me_ your bacon,” Charlie says, outraged. 

“That’s because you’re not cute like me,” Cas rasps. He’s sitting up now, at least.

Dean has to promise Cas the first trip to the bathroom and dibs on whatever toppings he likes before he gets up. Dean doesn’t know why he’s being so stubborn about it, it’s not like the treehouse floor is comfy.

 

* * *

 

Mary and John are both out when Charlie’s Angels finally come into the kitchen at two forty five. Sam tells them that he’s already eaten, Mom and Dad are at the farmer’s market, and yes, he wants pancakes. 

While the pancake batter sets, Dean and Charlie pull out all manner of jars and cartons from various cupboards and shelves - peanut butter, three different kinds of syrup, whipped cream, fresh strawberries, blueberries, raspberries, grape jelly, and three packets of bacon. 

“What's your poison, Cas?” Dean asks with his head in the fridge.

“Vodka,” Cas says, and there's still plenty of sleep in his voice. 

“I can do orange juice.” 

“That's fine, I've learned to live with life's disappointments.” 

Dean starts greasing a pan for pancakes, and Jo is instantly at his side.

“I'll do bacon,” she says, “since you're bound to burn _something_ and I will _not_ let it be my bacon.” 

“Speaking of,” Dean says brightly, “Cas, you're not actually getting any of my bacon. Sorry.”

“This friendship is founded on lies and betrayal,” Cas says.

Dean’s pancakes, as usual, come out unevenly coloured and nowhere near as good as his mom’s, but are good nonetheless. (Jo's bacon comes out perfect. Cas steals at least half of Dean's and fakes innocence when Dean calls him on it.)

Overall, the afternoon’s going pretty well - Sam and Cas get into a heated discussion about, like, advanced calculus or something, Charlie manages not to get whipped cream everywhere, and Benny _does_ manage to consume more maple syrup than actual pancake - until about three thirty, when John and Mary get home. They're both carrying grocery bags when they come into the kitchen, and Dean is already up out of his seat to help. 

“Morning,” Cas says, and sips his coffee.(Orange juice did nothing to wake him.) 

“It's half past three in the afternoon, Cas,” Mary says, like she's known him for years. She waves Dean away when he tries to take a grocery bag from her. 

After groceries are put away and John has remained silent the entire five minutes they've been home and very deliberately not looked at Cas _once_ , Mary asks, “What did you guys get up to last night?” 

“The usual,” Jo says. “Video games, movies, talking about anything but our feelings.”

“Joke's on you, Jo,” Dean says, taking his seat again beside Cas, “I don't have any feelings.” 

“Tell that to Joss Whedon,” Charlie mutters.

“John,” Mary says suddenly. “Did you meet Dean's new friend?”

“Mary -” John starts, but he's cut off by a look from his wife that says, very clearly, _meet Dean’s new friend, John._

Dean's New Friend stands, crosses the room to John, and sticks out his hand. “Cas Novak, nice to meet you.”

John gives Cas a look that Dean can only see as _dismissive_ , and shakes his hand. “John Winchester.”

Cas nods, gives him a polite smile, and sits back down beside Dean. Mary gives Cas a genuine, kind smile, and practically shoos her husband out of the kitchen.

“Your dad seems nice,” Cas says once Dean's parents are out of earshot.

“Yeah, he's a real charmer,” Dean says, and mops up the last of the maple syrup on his plate with his final piece of bacon.

“He'll warm to you,” Charlie promises.

“It's not like he has a choice,” Dean offers. “You're one of us now. Ohana and all that.”

"One of us, one of us,” Jo and Benny chant.

Dean glances out the window, and the sun nearly blinds him. “Anybody feel like a trip to the park?”

Cas says, “Shotgun,” before Charlie can even open her mouth.

 

* * *

 

“It's like 85 degrees, man, how are you wearing so much black?” Benny asks Cas. He's got ice cream on the wiry hairs around his jaw that he calls a beard.

The park that Charlie's Angels frequent is not technically a people-park, but no one's gonna stop a group of nerdy teenagers from spending the odd afternoon in a dog park. Charlie actually has a dog, so sometimes they can get away with it, when she remembers to _bring_ Nymeria. Today is not one of those days.

Memorial is one of three dog parks in Lawrence. Dean doesn't know what it's a memorial _for_ , but it's by far the nicest place they visit. They sit currently at the edge of a wide open stretch of grass, right in the sunshine. There's only one bench out of the shade in this part of the park, but it's warm enough that lying on the grass isn't so bad.

Cas stands up from their bench and strikes a dramatic pose that somehow involves Dean almost getting kicked in the face. “ _Fashion_ , Benny. _Fashion._ ”

“Your “fashion” better cover dental,” Dean says, “I nearly just lost a tooth. 

Cas sits down in the grass beside him, and pats him on the cheek. “Wouldn't wanna ruin such a pretty face, now would we?”

Dean bats his eyelashes and tries to ignore the way his heart lurches in his chest. “You think I'm pretty?”

“Like a princess,” Benny says.

“How come princes never be to be pretty?” Jo asks. She's lying flat on her back with her eyes closed and her limbs spread, practically _basking_ in the sunlight.

“Gender roles,” Charlie says.

“Yeah, but have you _seen_ Thor?” Cas says. “Pretty is, like, the _only_ word for him.”

“How much of that is actually Thor, though?” Jo asks. “And how much of it is down to Chris Hemsworth’s abs? I could do my laundry on those.”

“Is that even a real question?” Dean scoffs. “Hemsworth and Thor are, like, the same person.” 

“I'm with Dean on this one,” Cas says. 

“Shocker,” Charlie says, and Dean can't actually tell if she's being sarcastic or not. She rests her head on Jo's thigh.

They're quiet for a while, mostly just content with the companionable silence. Benny lies back along the bench, since he's the only the one left on it, and Dean thinks he might've fallen asleep. Charlie lies with Jo and keeps nudging Dean with her foot and pretending she didn't do it. After a few minutes of this, Dean just rests his hand on her foot, and she settles.

Dean watches Cas following a bee with his eyes. There’s a patch of wildflowers just a little bit along the edge of the clearing, bright pinks and yellows, that Dean doesn't even notice. Cas is smirking, but it's almost an actual smile - Dean would make a joke about it, say he's gone soft, but that'd mean he'd be called out for staring, and a cheap laugh isn't worth it.

Instead he stays quiet, and just enjoys the way that Cas is perfectly in the middle of fitting in with his surroundings, and standing out from a mile away. It's fall now, and the leaves are starting to turn, so Cas's black clothes aren't _too_ out of place - but at the same time, it's still warm, and summer is just barely hanging on, so Cas’s wintry look seems almost entirely out of the question.

But there he is, Castiel Novak, dressed in black from head to toe, and Dean can't think of anywhere else he could possibly belong.

Dean wonders when he became such a sap. 

He also wonders - _very_ briefly, because this rabbit hole feels like it might be a bottomless pit - if three days of knowing a person is enough to develop a crush. He mentally punches himself for even _thinking_ that, because he does _not_ have a crush on Cas, dammit.

These are not daytime thoughts, he decides, before he starts analysing every interaction he's had with Cas in the last three days.

These are middle of the night, wake up in a cold sweat thoughts, that he shouldn't even be having, _especially_ when Cas is _right there_ , two feet from him, still watching the fucking _bees_ with that stupid fucking smile on his face, and - 

And shit, Dean's got a crush on Cas.

He tries to think about it from any other angle, in any way that will bring him to _any_ other conclusion. 

Maybe it's just hormones. Normal, pubescent, up-and-down hormones. Making him think he has a crush on Cas _just_ because Cas is aesthetically pleasing and completely his type, _just_ because Cas is a new and shiny thing in his life. Nothing to do with Cas being unfairly good-looking and having permanent sex hair.

Maybe the feelings - which Dean is adamant are _not even there_ \- are completely platonic, and platonic feelings just happen to _seem_ like crush feelings. He knows it's a long shot, but he looks at Benny anyway, to test the theory, but his heart rate actually _slows_ instead of the near cardiac arrest he gets when he looks back at Cas, and the butterflies in his stomach drop dead rather than flutter like the kites above them. 

It's been _three days_ . That _cannot_ be long enough. Dean barely even knows Cas. Okay, they've been basically joined at the hip since he showed up in school on Wednesday, and Cas has already spent the night in Dean's treehouse - _he's claimed a sleeping bag_ \- and Dean kind of maybe gravitated towards him in his sleep, but it's still only been _three days_. And Dean's a cuddler anyway, that doesn't even mean anything. 

Maybe it is just because Cas is Dean's type. He's always had a thing for bad boys.(Though he's not entirely sure Cas is one.)

Fuck, who knows, maybe it's just because Cas looks like Sebastian Stan.

The only thing Dean really knows for sure, when Cas turns away from the bees and looks right at him and he feels his heart almost jump out of his chest like a Bugs Bunny cartoon, is that he is fucking _screwed_ if this keeps up any longer.

 

* * *

 

Dean and Cas stare a lot. Like, _a lot_ a lot. After two weeks, Dean's fairly certain that they could have entire conversations without speaking a word. He's pretty sure they _have_ , too.

Dean only really started noticing the Staring Thing when he noticed _Jo_ noticing.

He doesn't do it in a creepy way. A lot of the time he'll just get _distracted_ by something in Cas's _general direction,_ and then Cas with catch his eye and they'll end up looking for longer than originally intended.

(And if the distraction sometimes _is_ Cas, well, then, that's beside the point. Wait, no, that might be the _entire_ point.)

 _Okay_ so maybe it's been a _little_ creepy a couple times, but who can blame him? Piercings and eyeliner, on a guy, are _nice_. Attractive, even.

But it's completely okay and not pervy in the slightest to stare at your friend for a solid ten minutes just because you think his lip ring is hot, right?

God, he's so screwed.

 

* * *

 

Jo doesn't mention it until about three days after Dean notices her noticing. They're in the library when she speaks up, after thirty minutes of rolling her eyes every time Dean so much as _thinks_ about Cas.

The Lawrence High school library is not particularly big, nor is it very well stocked. In Dean's experience, the rows upon rows of shelves really contain little other than poorly-treated used textbooks and ancient issues of National Geographic.

The designated “study area” - not a lot of that actually happens - is nice enough, Dean supposes. A bunch of tables line a wall that is mostly window, and the parts that aren't are painted an off-putting yellow.

“You need to control yourself,” Jo says, and doesn't even look up from the history notes she's taking. “About a third of the football team came in five minutes ago, and if Zach Milton sees your checking Cas out like you've been doing all day, we're gonna have a mess on our hands.”

“I'm not -” Dean starts, then stops himself when he realises he's been watching Cas talk to a sophomore with curly brown hair and a cart full of books for three minutes.

Jo looks at him then, raises an eyebrow.

Dean's mind goes blank. “I'm just, uh -”

“Admiring the decor?” Jo suggests.

“Yeah,” Dean says. “Wait, what? No, I'm -”

“Trying to come up with an excuse for why you've been looking at Cas more than your textbook all period?”

Dean makes a face of pure desperation. “Um, maybe?”

Jo sighs. “Look, I get it. Sort of. I don't _really_ get your thing for penises, but that's not the point. The point is that you _obviously_ have a thing for Cas's penis in particular. Well, I mean, you have a thing for _Cas,_ but that _includes_ his penis, right? So you've got a thing for Cas and his penis -”

“Jo,” Dean whispers.

“- Which is fine, by the way, even though he was Charlie's friend first and you've only known him two and a half weeks. But love is love, right? Is this love? It's kind of cute, actually -”

“ _Jo,_ ” Dean hisses.

“- Like if you guys got together, Charlie would be, like, a matchmaker or something? Anyway, I'm totally fine with whatever penis you're into, just stop _staring_ all the time, it's driving me _nuts_ \- and you _know_ if Milton catches on shit’s gonna hit the fan, and I don't wanna be around when the happens. I mean, obviously I’ll be there for you, if you need me, but like -”

“Oh my god, shut up,” Dean groans quietly. “Cas is coming back over, stop talking.”

Cas sits down beside him and looks between Dean and Jo. “You're awfully quiet.”

Dean turns the page of a textbook lying open in front of him, and does his best impression of a person actually studying. “You think it's easy holding a conversation while learning how to conjugate French verbs?"

Cas gives him a dumbfounded look and deadpans, “Dean, you don't _take_ French.”

“Oh,” Dean says, and frowns. “That'll be why I don't understand anything, then.”

Jo rolls her eyes and slides him his own history book. “Try this. You're actually in this class.”

“Leave me alone, it's too early for this,” Dean grumbles.

“It's almost two in the afternoon, Dean,” Jo informs him.

“Oh my god, stop ganging up on me. I thought you were on _my_ side, Jo.”

“You can't take sides in an argument that doesn't exist,” Cas scoffs.

Dean sticks his tongue out at Cas, and Cas makes a face at him, and they sort of just keep looking at each other for a while, until Jo kicks Dean under the table and he looks away. His cheeks are burning.

Zachariah Milton walks past their table, and Dean wonders just how many times Milton is going to see him blush because of Cas.

Milton mutters, “Fuckin’ faggots,” just loud enough for them to hear, and Cas looks ready to slit his throat. He's halfway out of his seat when Dean grabs his hand. Cas looks at him, fire in his blue eyes.

“Hey,” Dean says quietly. “Let it go, okay? He's not worth it.”

Cas lets out a long breath and sits back down. Dean tries not to notice how Cas doesn't take his hand away, but it's right there on the table in front of them, so it's a little difficult not too think about.

Dean pulls his hand away two seconds later, but in those two seconds, _boy_ does he think about it.

He thinks about the buzzing under his skin where it touches Cas's, and wonders if Cas feels that too.

He thinks about how _instinctive_ it was to touch Cas like that, even in context.

Mostly he thinks about not moving at all, leaving their hands like that, because _fuck_ , it just feels kinda _nice._

But of course he does pull his hand back, because _social convention_ states that one may not hold the hand of another male, unless they be romantically involved.

 _Social convention is stupid_ , Dean thinks.

“I get it, okay?” Dean tells Cas. The storm in his eyes has calmed. “Believe me, I fucking _get it._ But you can't make a scene every time some asshole says something stupid.

Cas looks at him, and his expression softens. Dean never wants to admit tro anyone that it makes his insides melt.

“Besides,” he says, “do you really want to give Zachariah Milton the satisfaction?”

Cas huffs a short laugh, and smirks, but his eyes are smiling. Dean's heart pounds in his chest.

“This is touching,” Jo says, a not-ver-faint hint of annoyance in her voice. “Adorable,really. But we've got ten minutes left of our _only_ free period today, and a history test next period. I hate to ruin the moment -”

“And yet, there you go,” Cas mutters.

“- but _I_ for one do not plan on wasting my last precious moments of study time watching yu two make heart eyes at each other over the table. So either study or get out, because I am _not_ failing this test.”

The silence lasts a good five minutes before Dean speaks.

“Hey, Cas,” he whispers, “can I copy your answers?”

Cas sighs. “Yeah, okay.”

Jo rolls her eyes.

Dean smiles. “Thanks, Cas.”

Dean thinks he sees Cas smile, too, but then the bell rings, and what could have been an actual show of affection is kicked to the dirt by a loud groan and a skyward look of loathing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for how long this took!!! shout out to dáire who's been nagging me about this for two weeks


	4. Chapter 4

It's a Wednesday, exactly six days since the Conversation with Jo in the library.

Dean is, miraculously, paired with Cas on an English project. He gives Charlie a cheery wave across the room, where she sits with Meg Masters. She rolls her eyes.

He turns to see Cas, almost suddenly, beside him, regarding him with the same intensity Dean usually associates with trying to understand a piece of art. He feels himself go pink.

Dean glances at the chalkboard. “So, um. _Symbolism and subtext_.”

“Yep,” Cas says, popping the _p,_ which really only draws attention to his mouth. It's a nice mouth, all soft lips and shiny metal, but Dean spends _far_ too much time paying attention to it as it is - and he's getting a C- in this class, he doesn't need the distraction of Cas’s lips.

Would it really be that bad a distraction, though? Cas's lips on his own, on his jaw, his neck, his chest, his -

Dean clears his throat.

“Any ideas?” he asks, like he wasn't just thinking very hard about kissing Cas. He's gotten good at pretending.

“Subtext,” Cas says.

Dean huffs out a laugh. “Gonna need more than that, asshole.”

 _“Specifically,”_ Cas says, “homoerotic subtext in modern fiction.”

Dean laughs again, and Cas smiles that gummy smile of his, the one that makes Dean's thoughts go a little fuzzy.

“You don't do anything by half, do you?” Dean asks, but he knows the answer.

“I've been known to disregard any kind of fraction when I do anything.” Cas's voice is level and serious.

“About time it got a little gay in here,” Dean says, “let's fucking do it.”

Cas cracks when Dean winces at his own wording, and they spend the rest of the class unable to maintain eye contact for more than a second without giggling.

Cas's giggle, it transpires, is a lot like his regular laugh - in that it warms every part of Dean to know he's the cause, and that it's goddamn _infectious._

Cas makes a very valiant effort to maintain a straight face while they attempt to decide what to cover in their project, but his façade breaks when he realises what it really means when Dean suggests they _see if anything is gained or lost when a piece is adapted to film._

“That's just a fucking excuse to sit on your ass for three days straight watching Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter, Dean, and you fucking know it,” he snorts.

 _“No,”_ Dean says, “it's an excuse for _us_ to sit on _our_ asses for three days straight and watch Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter. And Marvel movies, those count as modern fiction. Because comic books.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “Just because you want to fuck Chris Evans -”

“Hey, that's an assumption!”

“Am I _wrong?”_

“Well, no,” Dean says, “but, like, who doesn't want to fuck Chris Evans? And _anyway_ he wouldn't even be my first choice, he's like second or third choice _minimum -”_

“Who.” Cas says. It should sound like a question, but it doesn't. It sounds like an accusation.

“I - what?”

“Who's your first choice.”

 _You_ , he wants to say.

“Sebastian Stan, dude, are you fucking kidding me?” is what he says. “ _Jesus,_ the _jawline_ on that guy.”

It's a safe and true answer, until Dean makes it _un_ safe, because he's a _fucking idiot_ , by telling Cas, “You can't fucking beat dark hair and blue eyes, man.”

Cas, with his jawline and dark hair and blue eyes, looks at him.

The bell rings, and Dean feels his face drop and redness spread across his cheeks and down the back of his neck.

Cas just laughs.

 

* * *

 

Meg Masters joins them at lunch. She sits across from Cas, beside Charlie, and Dean finds he doesn't even wonder why.

Meg is Charlie's assigned partner for the _Symbolism and Subtext_ project, a reader of everything from Stephen King to Oscar Wilde, a waitress at a local pizza restaurant, and a lesbian.

It's clear she expects that last fact to be something of a bombshell, but the only thing anyone - _Charlie_ \- asks is, “If we say we know you, can we get discount pizza?”

Meg smiles, real and genuine, and Dean gets the impression that she doesn't give smiles like that out willy nilly.

“Only if I'm with you,” she says. “Employee discount.”

“What if you're our server?” Charlie presses.

Meg frowns, thinking. “It's against company policy since I don't actually have any to speak of, but I'd probably give you the Friends and Family discount.”

Dean is unsure whether she means their whole group when she says _you,_ or just Charlie. He doesn't ask, just watches Meg smiling at her, and exchanges a look with Cas. Cas nods.

“So, Meg,” Cas says, with the same tone he used on Dean that first lunchtime all those weeks ago. “What are you and Charlie doing your project on?”

A very slightly pink tint blooms on Meg's cheeks.

Cas catches Dean's eye - it's not difficult to do, really - and smiles, just the tiniest amount.

“Symbolism in Tolkien, right?” Meg says, and looks to Charlie for confirmation she doesn't actually need.

“That's actually perfect,” Dean says, and kicks Charlie lightly under the table. He holds her confused gaze while he continues, “you guys can join us when we search Lord of the Rings for homoerotic subtext.”

Charlie laughs so hard she almost chokes.

She looks at Cas. “Your idea, right?”

He grins at her, all teeth. “Guilty as charged.”

“Shit,” Meg says, “why didn't I think of that? I feel like I should have.”

“Maybe you were distracted,” Dean offers, knowing full well that he deserves the dirty look she throws at him.

Under the table, Cas brushes the tops of their hands together for half a second. It's so brief a touch that Dean wouldn't even have noticed it if it were anyone else, but it's _not_ anyone else, it's _Cas._ And Dean has learned by now that his body will respond fairly quickly - see: instantly - to pretty much anything Cas does, _especially_ if it involves touching him.

It takes him the entire six stages of grief to realise that it was probably a fucking fist bump.

_Nice going, Winchester._

“Distracted by what?” Charlie says, utterly confused. “It's not like there's anything to _look_ at in that fucking class.”

Dean can physically feel Cas think, _oh, honey._ He shares the sentiment, honestly.

Their English teacher, a dark-skinned southern woman who _insists_ everyone call her by her first name, Billie, keeps a very clean classroom. Clean meaning _bare._ The only kind of decoration in her class is a circular clock at the front of the room above the dry-erase board.

So it's not that Charlie is necessarily incorrect with this point.

Except that she completely _is,_ because Meg Masters spent that entire class with the same dumb look on her face Dean has seen on Benny’s when confronted with a sundae.

“Um,” is all Meg says, and the topic drops.

Cas asks her, “You got a family?”

Meg's expression now, given this specific subject, is one of furious contempt.

“Blood relatives,” Meg says bitterly, “are not the same thing as family. My parents and brother are _not_ my family.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Cas says. “I fucking get that, man. I came out to my parents and they fuckin’ sent me to bible camp.”

“I'm not out,” Meg says after a minute. “Not at home, anyway. My whole family's a big bag of dicks, honestly - my brother tried to _stab_ some guy when he came out, and that was only as _bi,_ so I figure it's not really worth the risk.”

Dean doesn't mention that he was the guy who almost got stabbed by Meg's brother. He doesn't hold it against her, but he makes a mental note never to go to Sunday dinner at the Masters’.

“Look at us,” Cas says, with a glint in his eye. “A real pair, me and you.”

She gives him a tiny smile.

Dean likes Meg. He always kind of expected her to be like her brother - an asshole with a knife. The only real sharpness to Meg is her sense of humour and her cheekbones.

And maybe she's a bit of an asshole, but she's the right _kind_ of asshole.

Dean thinks of the spare sleeping bag in the treehouse. He had quietly wondered, one day in the middle of summer, why they even _had_ spares. He figured it was in case someone spilled something.

Now he knows better.

“Hey, Meg,” Dean says, but he's looking at Charlie, trying to read her while he speaks. “We've got room for one more, if you wanna join the Dream Team.”

Meg's eyes light up, but she keeps the rest of her features as neutral as possible. Charlie looks right at Dean and lifts her water bottle to her lips. She smiles behind the rim

“Are you asking me to join a gang?” Meg says, her voice playful now. “Do I have to wear a scarf tied around my ankle?”

Dean laughs. “All you have to do is put up with Charlie's stink all the time.”

Charlie kicks him under the table, hard. Her smile is as sweet as honey.

“Not to force your hand or anything,” Cas says, “but if I had to list my family, I sure as fuck wouldn't be naming any Novaks.”

Cas bumps his knee against Dean's. Dean smiles at the table and tries not to read too much into anything.

“Well, fuck,” Meg says. “I’d be an asshole to turn down the first offer of friendship I've had since grade school, right?”

When no one answers, she leans in toward the whole group and smiles, “I'm kidding, dumbasses, I'm fucking _in_.”

Cas grins. “Welcome to Charlie's Angels, Meg.”

Charlie cringes. “I _hate_ that name. You guys _know_ I hate that name.”

“Why do you think we kept it?” Dean says.

“There’s too many of us for that to even make sense as a joke now,” Charlie protests.

“Bring it up at the next board meeting, Charlie,” Cas says.

 

* * *

 

The next board meeting, which Dean refuses to call it, occurs after school that very day, when they realise there's not enough space in Charlie's beat up yellow car - it's had so much half-price work done on it that Dean doesn't even know what it _is_ anymore - for them all to fit.

“Ah, shit,” Cas mutters beside Dean as they cross the minefield of potential lawsuits and probable breakdowns that is the student parking lot of Lawrence High. Meg is on the other side of Cas, and Dean sees her face drop from the corner of his eye when they join Charlie, Benny, and Jo leaning _oh-so-casually_ against Charlie's car.

“Six,” Benny says. “You want us to fit six people into that pile of scrap metal.”

“First of all, how _dare_ you,” Charlie retorts. “Second -”

“Your car barely fits _four_ people safely, Charlie,” Benny says.

“That's no excuse for rudeness!”

“Benny, it's fine, we'll just double up in the back -” Dean tries.

“You are not sitting in my lap, Winchester, I don't care how half-straight you are.”

“Do you fucking hear yourself right now? Fucking _half-straight_ -”

“If I'm gonna cause an argument, I can take the bus, I don't mind,” Meg says quietly.

“You will do no such thing,” Charlie snaps.

Jo squeezes the bridge of her nose with her fingertips. Dean can almost _hear_ her brain working to find the least uncomfortable way to fit everyone in the car. He knows it's a lost cause, because he's already gone through every possible combination and _no one_ comes out of this without being emotionally scarred in some way.

“Fuck it,” Dean says finally. “Meg, you take shotgun.”

Jo makes a face, but then clearly reasons that it's probably best not to subject Meg to the horrors of the back seat straight away.

“Okay,” Jo concedes, “who's sitting on who?”

 _“Whom,”_ Cas says quietly, as Charlie and Meg get into the car.

Jo’s face screams bloody murder.

“I will kick your ass, Novak, don't think I won't,” Jo says. “You know what, just for that, you're getting Dean's dumb ass on your lap. Problem solved."

 _Or fucking created,_ Dean thinks. Jo pointedly doesn't look at him while she pushes Benny into the car with a gruff, “Move it, fuckwad, I've got homework to do.”

Is it possible to sit on your crush's lap and have it not be awkward?

Is it possible to sit on your crush's lap _in a moving vehicle that vibrates a lot_ and have it not be awkward?

Is it possible to sit on your crush's lap in a moving vehicle that vibrates a lot _where the only person who knows about your crush is the one sitting beside you with a stupid smug look on her face_ and have it not be awkward?

The answer to all of these questions, is _fucking no._

But Dean is a relaxed guy. Everything is dust in the wind, right? He rolls with the punches.

Not this punch, though. This is one punch he takes right to the gut, or across his jaw, or to his nose, whichever is least convenient.

It takes a very surprising amount of jostling and what can really only be described as _rubbing_ to settle himself into Cas’s lap. He tries very hard not to think about how few layers separate them. He doesn't really manage it.

He pulls the car door closed as hard as he can from his, um, _vantage point._

“Shit,” Cas mutters.

“Well gee, Cas, I'm not totally happy with this arrangement either, but at least I'm not fucking _vocal_ about it.”

“Not _you_ , asshole, this is _fi_ -” Cas clearly thinks better of whatever he's about to say and cuts himself off. “The belt isn't long enough, is all.”

Charlie starts the car after flipping the engine roughly forty-three times. She rolls her eyes at them.

“So just fucking hold him, Cas, I don't have all day.”

And so it goes: Dean, in Cas's lap, with Cas's - warm, strong, _stop thinking about it Dean what is wrong with you_ \- arms criss-crossed around his waist, and Cas's forehead against his back.

Dean stares at the headrest in front of him because he doesn't want to look at Jo and see that knowing look on her face.

“This is the most uncomfortable I have ever been,” Benny says, pressed against the door on his side.

Dean feels fine, if a little mortified, up until the first speed bump.

Dean feels fine, if a little mortified, for approximately six seconds.

They hit the first speed bump, and it's like Charlie didn't even _try_ to slow down for it. The only way Dean can react to Cas accidentally bucking his hips into Dean's, is to let out a high-pitched squeak.

Everyone - save Charlie, because she is a Serious Driver, and Cas, because he physically can't - gapes at him.

Dean feels three things at that moment.

The first is his entire body heating up in a furious blush. He sees his almost-red face in the rear-view mirror and finds he wouldn't mind terribly if the ground decided to be a pal and swallow him whole.

The second is the distinct feeling of blood rushing through his veins to _one spot in particular_.

The third is Cas's arms tightening around him, pulling him closer, until it's no longer Cas's forehead on his back but Cas's chin on his shoulder.

Jo very deliberately leans forward and turns on the radio.

Benny very deliberately stares out the window.

Meg very deliberately does not speak.

Charlie very deliberately continues driving.

Dean very deliberately places his hand on one Cas's at his waist.

Dean, in the rear-view, sees Cas's mouth very accidentally split into a grin.

Dean turns his head as much as he can without it being weird - which is, honestly, not much - and says to Cas, softly, “You're an asshole.”

Meg snickers in the front, and that is how Dean knows she belongs here with them in this tiny mess of old car parts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so a just a few things:
> 
> 1) next chapter very very soon!!!! im finally getting back into the swing of writing every night so thanks to summer holidays for that
> 
> 2) this chapter was actually a lot shorter than originally intended!! there are a few reasons for this but the main one is i forgot to write the rest of it.
> 
> 3) the next chapter will be a lot longer but also a lot more Sad as it features everyone's favourite absent father, john winchester. i have like. a grudge against john winchester so u can pretty much assume any appearance he makes in this story will have somewhat negative consequences
> 
> 4) meg masters originally didn't have much of a role in this story, but upon inspection the part i gave her first time around was kind of shitty and she deserves better so now she's a Main Character
> 
> 5) thank u for reading!! all feedback is appreciated <3


	5. Chapter 5

Meg Masters becomes an official member of Charlie's Angels - they still haven't decided on a new name, since that one doesn't really work that well anymore - the first night she stays over at Dean's house.

Specifically, when she meets Dean's family, and Mary practically offers to adopt her.

The night is going exactly as planned: somehow stuff everyone into the Impala, treat Meg to dinner at the Roadhouse - even though they have to give up their usual booth to accommodate the newfound largeness of their group - and have _everyone pay for their own, Cas,_ swiftly followed by video games, a movie, and (probably) midnight conspiracy theory discussion. 

Dean doesn't know why he didn't expect to introduce Meg to his family. It just wasn't in the mission brief.

The scene when they arrive at the Winchester home is almost identical to the night Dean brought Cas home for the first time, except Jo is there because she's not working tonight, and John isn't because he _is_ working.

Sam sits at the kitchen table with a partially-abandoned PB&J beside his stack of probably non-essential school books. 

Mary Winchester, across from her youngest son, looks up from her laptop when the Lawrence High Six come crashing into her kitchen, snickering at inside jokes and spouting what is probably some form of profanity.

“Hey, Mom,” Dean says. He makes a loop around the table to the fridge to make it seem like giving her a quick hug is just _on his way_ to the snacks. He gives Sam a swift smack in the head instead of a real greeting.

“ _Dean,_ ” Mary scolds, but it's more fond than harsh.

Dean, half-buried in the fridge, doesn't see her eyes fall on Meg loitering by the kitchen doorway.

“Dean,” Mary says, more urgently now.

“Yah?” is his response, vaguely muffled by the popsicle sticking out of his mouth. It's freezing his lips and his tongue, but he's too busy handing out the rest of the popsicles to his friends to really care - and it's not like he'll need either of those things for anything but _talking_ tonight, anyway.

Dean follows his mother's eyes to Meg, quietly looking at the floor. He removes his popsicle.

“Oh, right,” he says. “Meg, this is my mom and brother. Mom and brother, this is -”

“Meg Masters, right?” Mary cuts him off, while Sam mutters some form of greeting. “I know your parents from PTA.”

Meg looks up at Mary now, a sly smile on her lips and a glint of _something_ in her eye. “Sorry about that.”

Charlie frowns, but Mary laughs.

“Oh, _honey_ ,” Mary sighs, in that way that mothers do - that way that usually indicates they're about to say something about _look how big you've gotten_ or _last time I saw you._

Mary inhales deeply, which Dean knows can only be a bad sign, and clearly takes Meg's words as an all-clear to voice her _actual_ opinions.

Talk shit, in other words. 

“I didn't want to say anything, honest,” she says, “and I really don't break to be rude, but I find it a little hard to believe that someone raised by - ahem _-_ _those_ people would ever even cross paths with Dean and his band of merry men -”

“Hey, Benny's straight!” Dean protests.

“No, I get it,” Meg says, and for once there isn't a drop of insincerity in her voice. “They're homophobic and racist and _completely_ awful, and I'm sorry you ever had to interact with them. God knows I wish I didn't have to.” 

“Oh, _honey,_ ” Mary says, again, but this time she sounds like she might cry. Meg has stepped into the room a little more now, but not quite enough that Mary doesn't have to walk to hug her.

Mary hugs her, and Dean realises that his family is kind of kick-ass. 

Mary lets go and waves her hand in front of her face, laughing just the tiniest bit.

“Oh, gosh, I'm tearing up,” she says, her voice waterlogged. She laughs in a sad way, and places a hand on Meg's shoulder. “You are welcome here _any time,_ you hear me?” 

“Yes ma'am,” Meg says, and Dean thinks he sees a tear slide down her cheek. 

Maybe it's a tear sliding down his own cheek. Who knows, there's too many people crying already to be able to tell. 

 _“Jesus,”_ Charlie says, “can we go play video games already? You guys are gonna ruin my three day no-cry streak. And this mascara isn't waterproof.”

“I don't want to witness that,” Dean states, and grabs a six-pack of something carbonated and non-alcoholic - John drinks his beer in bottles, and Mary doesn't drink, so that's all there _is_ \- from the fridge, replacing it with the mostly empty popsicle box.

Dean's arm is hooked by someone else's - _Cas what the hell I know how to_ walk - and suddenly they're all shuffling somewhat uncoordinatedly up the stairs to Dean's room.

* * *

 

“Is there even any point in playing video games anymore?” Dean asks from where he sits on his bed, back against the headboard. “Cas wins everything we put in front of him. We don't even have enough controllers for everyone to play Smash Brothers.” 

Benny, Charlie, Meg, and Jo, as the first four in the room, have already claimed beanbags, and therefore leaves Cas stuck on the bed with Dean, not playing. 

Which means, for reasons unknown, Cas has curled up beside Dean and planted his head firmly in Dean's lap.

“Don't you blaspheme, Dean Winchester,” Charlie says distractedly. She's already stolen first place in Mario Kart.

“Video games are an integral part of who we are as a group,” Jo insists.

Dean's hand finds its way to Cas’s hair and he notices he doesn't need to try very hard to keep his voice steady. “I'm just saying, we don't know that Meg isn't another Cas. We don't know that she doesn't have secret Nintendo skills she's been hiding from us this entire time.”

“Why would I hide something like that?” Meg asks, raising her controller up and up and up and to the side a little and up a bit more, as if that will help her regain the entire lap she's lagging by. “If it was true, I mean.”

“Same reason I did,” Cas says. “To be an asshole.” 

Dean looks at him, raises an eyebrow. Pretends Cas doesn't look _that_ perfect from this angle.

“You're already an asshole,” Dean says.

To prove Dean's point, Cas punches him in the thigh.

Dean howls, but doesn't move enough to dislodge Cas, because he's an asshole, too, but mainly to himself. 

“I'm really more a fan of subtlety, if I'm honest,” Meg says through a clenched jaw. 

“And if you're not honest?” Cas asks.

Meg shoots him a quick shark-grin. “Then I'm your worst nightmare, honey.”

Dean catches Jo watching him and Cas from the corner of her eye, and tries to figure out if her expression is annoyed, fond, exasperated, or a bizarre combination of the three. Cas shifts a little closer, and Dean doesn't stop him. Jo rolls her eyes.

All three. Definitely all three. 

Around twenty six minutes and thirty two seconds later, Jo rolls her eyes again, precisely nine seconds after Cas has finished the - apparently very loud and physically draining - movement of flipping onto his stomach to practically _drape_ himself across Dean's lap.

Well, if Dean is honest with himself, which he rarely is, _crotch_ is a more accurate description of where Cas has placed himself.

There is no place he can put his left hand - everywhere has been marked _off-limits_ by Dean's brain for _weeks._

 _Everywhere_ is the back of Cas’s head where his hair curls that little bit at the base of his skull. His shoulders that are more tense than they should be. The arch of his spine that's forced by Cas propping himself up on his elbows. The soft curve of his ass, that has been working 24/7 Cas’s entire life and _refuses_ to quit.

Dean looks at the ceiling and wonders why God hates him.

Cas cranes his neck to look at Dean.

“Problem?” he whispers, with a tone to his voice that says he knows _exactly_ what the problem is.

Dean braces himself for whatever look Cas is giving him - he's just a gross _boy_ what is _wrong_ with you Winchester - and looks down.

Cas's whole face just looks _kind._ His eyes are warm, which is somehow _emphasized_ by the black around them. Instead of the smirk Dean expected, he gets a smile, small enough not to require too many teeth, but _real_ enough to reach his eyes and turn every thought in Dean's head to _mush._  

Cas looks _soft,_ and Dean wants to kiss him.

He doesn't.

He can feel Jo thinking daggers at him.

“No problem,” Dean whispers. He rests his left hand on the small of Cas's back.

Something important happens in the video game, and Dean's attention is drawn back to the rest of the group.

“Hey, assholes,” Dean calls, and they turn to him. “If I find popsicle sticks stuck to my carpet tomorrow I'm holding you all personally responsible for the grounding I get from my mom.”

There's a sort of kerfuffle about who should have to dump the sticks in the small trash can in the corner of the room, because apparently none of Dean's friends are reasonable enough people to get rid of their own garbage. 

It ends up being Benny.

He makes a very big deal of collecting the sticks and hauling himself up and over to the trash can. This apparently takes an enormous effort and leads to Benny crashing dramatically onto the bed. Dean feels like he should have seen that coming.

Cas wriggles in Dean's lap, which is about the worst thing he could possibly do. Dean looks at Benny and tries to think about anything but Cas _writhing_ against him.

“Benny, I swear to God, get off my fucking foot,” Cas growls. 

“Or what, Novak?” Benny says threateningly, like he's in any position to be making threats.

Cas lifts his free foot and pokes Benny in the face with his un-socked big toe.

Benny squeals.

“Movie?” Charlie suggests brightly.

* * *

 

It's raining when they open the back door to move to the treehouse. It's raining _hard._  

Dean sticks his head out. He returns what he guesses is about three seconds later, hair soaked.

“I'm not going out in that,” Charlie says. 

“Agreed,” Dean says.

* * *

 

They stay in Dean's room, where the TV is nicer, it's cozier, the snacks are less of a hassle to get to, and there's the dilemma of who gets the bed and who has to sleep on the floor. 

Dean, ever the gracious host, never takes the bed. He gets to have it every other night of the week already - and anyway, what kind of asshole makes his friends sleep on the floor? 

“Meg,” Dean says, “as the newest member of our little posse -” 

“I hate that word,” Jo mutters.

Dean gives her a look, and continues. “I think you should decide who gets the bed when we all pretend to be asleep until _someone_ decides it's been too long since he last ate.” 

“Please remember that no one wants to sleep with Benny,” Cas says. 

“Hey, fuck you, man -” 

“I’ll think on it,” Meg says. “Can we watch the movie now? We didn't spend thirty minutes trying to decide on one for _nothing,_ right?” 

The movie is Legally Blonde. (Benny was out-voted five to one.)

Sam joins them until midnight strikes, and he runs from the room only half an hour in like his carriage is about to turn back into a pumpkin. 

The beauty part of having carpet, Dean has found on many occasions, is that you can rotate your heavy wooden TV stand a full ninety degrees so that you can watch Legally Blonde sitting against your bed with your five closest friends and _not_ get yelled at by your mother for scratching the floor.

Also, being able to hide crumbs without it being immediately noticeable.

Benny falls asleep halfway through the movie, right when Elle Woods starts to get her own back.

He is followed swiftly by Meg and Charlie who, despite fighting so fiercely for this movie earlier, have clearly found the warmth and comfort of human contact too much to handle after being literally on top of each other for 90% of the evening.

Dean feels his own eyes drooping, and distantly marvels at how easy it is to fall asleep pressed against Cas, his chest heaving against Dean's back with every breath he takes.

They are in almost the exact same position as they were in Charlie's car, only now Dean sits between Cas's legs and doesn't think he's going to explode any second. 

Jo yawns, and crawls to the TV station. “I've got this. You guys take the bed, Meg would've given it to you anyway.” 

Dean is very suddenly awake. He shoots up, briefly considers hiding in his closet, hates himself for even thinking that, and helps Jo push the TV back into place.

“I'm gonna brush my teeth,” Cas says, and leaves. 

The bathroom door closes, and Jo says, “I'll take the bed if you want. I know it's, like, a moral thing or whatever for you about sleeping on the floor when we're in here.” 

Dean gives her a funny look. “That's it? You're not gonna mention the Cas thing?” 

“You've been all over him the entire night, Dean,” she says. 

“Okay, _I_ didn't actually do _anything,_ that was _all_ Cas -” 

Jo rolls her eyes. “You're clearly doing _something,_ that guy's on you like a rash.”

She sighs. “I just thought it went without saying - I'll bail you out of this if you need me, Dean, you know I will.”

Dean smiles at her. “Thanks. It's just. It's a big _thing,_ you know?”

“I know. Do you want the bed?”

Does he?

He's spent the whole night touching and being held by and generally _being near_ to Cas, what difference will another few hours in close quarters make? He already knows what it’s like to sleep beside Cas - it's not like it hasn't been happening every week already. 

So why is this so big and so _scary?_ Why is sleeping next to Cas any different, just because it's a bed instead of a treehouse floor?

Dean _knows_ why, and so does Jo, but neither of them say it. 

Instead, Dean says, “I'll take the bed.”

“Nice choice,” Jo says. “Now help me move these bodies.” 

Because he's an asshole, Cas doesn't return from the bathroom until all the hard work is done and Jo and Dean are already half-asleep again.

Well, Jo is probably half-asleep again.

Dean feels like he's had a triple shot of espresso as soon as Cas stops blindly stumbling around Dean's room and finally climbs in beside him.

The _only_ good thing about the fact that Jo snores a little, is that as soon as Dean hears her quiet snort across the room, he knows she's dead to the world.

The bed feels colder than it should, especially given the extra body lying with his back to Dean. It's so starkly opposite to how Cas has been the entire day that Dean would probably have mental whiplash, if _mental whiplash_ wasn't the fucking dumbest thing he'd thought in a long time. 

Jo's nearby snoring gives Dean the confidence to shift a little bit, across the miles of empty space between them, and put a hand on Cas's upper arm. After a second, Cas rolls onto his back and looks at Dean.

Dean's eyes have adjusted enough to the dark to make out parts of Cas's face, enough to see him roll his eyes when Dean tells him, “I'm cold.”

“C’mere, you dick,” Cas says, and pulls Dean against his chest. 

Dean isn't cold anymore.

* * *

 

Everyone has been sent home by three. Benny told his mom he'd fix a leak in their roof, Charlie and Cas have homework, Jo has to work, and Meg wasn't technically allowed to be there in the first place - so Dean is on his own for the first time in about four months. 

Which means he gets to have a nice long talk with his parents about his new friends. 

They're sitting at the kitchen table, and it's a perfectly normal scene: John absently reading the paper, Mary re-painting a nail that chipped earlier, Dean with a required reading book open in front of him.

Mary only sticks around long enough to tell Dean that Cas and Meg seem lovely and she's glad he's branching out a little. He doesn't tell her that they're both gay and only part of the group because of Charlie, so it's not really that big of a branch. More of a twig.

After giving Cas and Meg her seal of approval, she goes upstairs and doesn't come back down.

This leaves Dean alone with John, something he's been awkwardly avoiding for a while.

“That Meg sounds like a good kid,” is John’s opener. “Hell of a family, though, I gotta say.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, a little non-committally. “I think Mom might adopt her, after the stories she's told about PTA meetings.”

John laughs, short and dry. “That brother of hers is a piece of work, I'll tell ya that much.”

Dean came out as bisexual the May of his freshman year. He told Charlie first. She cried, and then punched him for laughing, because _you cried when I came out, you asshole, let me have this._ He came out to Jo and Benny literally five minutes later, as soon as Charlie had dried her eyes. Jo gave him a high-five and Benny clapped him on the back. 

He came out to the rest of the school - or, rather, stopped hiding - the following week.

Alastair Masters, a senior then, pulled a knife on him in the bathroom two days after. Dean was saved by Garth Fitzgerald, of all people, walking in and being a witness. Alastair called them both faggots, told Dean to remember this, and stormed out.

As if Dean would ever forget almost dying because some idiot wasn't happy about the fact that he likes dick.

“I dunno about that Novak fella,” John says. It pulls Dean out of his head and back into the conversation, and he's grateful for about a second and a half before he realises what the conversation is about the become.

Dean stays silent and waits. Waits for whatever blow John is about to strike, whatever words he'll be hearing on a loop when he tries to sleep tonight.

“Mary seems to think he's a good guy,” John continues. “But she don't know that type like I do, son.”

 _Oh, Christ,_ Dean thinks, _here we fucking go._  

“What _type?”_ Dean asks, because that's all he _can_ ask. He doesn't trust himself to say anything else. 

John sighs, folds the paper up. “The fucking _bad boy_ type, Dean. I don't like you hangin’ out with him.” 

Dean clenches his fist under the table, and takes a deep breath.

“Why?” he asks. “What’s wrong with him?”

He knows he's just pushing for an outburst now, but he can't help himself

“I don't like his attitude.”

Dean scoffs. “You've barely said _three words_ to him, and he's one of my closest friends. You don't know his _attitude._ ” 

“Don't you take that tone with me, boy -”

“Is it the way he dresses?” Dean says. “Is it - is it because he's _gay,_ and you can barely handle _me_ being bi?”

John stands very abruptly, and Dean knows he's hit the nail on the head. 

“I don't like that mouth you're getting on you all of a sudden, son, and I don't like that you're trying to make me out as some sort of - some kind of - _bigot,_ or something, and I _certainly_ don't like that Novak boy. He's puttin’ ideas in your head.”

John is yelling now, so Dean yells back.

“What, like the idea that I should just _be_ who I am, to hell what anyone else thinks? Like the idea that I shouldn't take people's _shit,_ just because they think they know better than me?” 

“You watch your mouth, Dean Winchester,” John says, his voice an earthquake. “That boy is bad news, you hear me?”

Dean can't seem to stop himself now he's started. “No, he's not. Cas has been nothing but good - to me, to my friends, to Mom, to _Sammy_ \- you're the only one with a problem, Dad.”

“Listen to me,” Dean says. His voice has lost its anger and is now pleading. “Cas is a _good guy._ I really - he's _important_ to me.” 

Dean doesn't really know why he puts so much meaning into that last part. He just wants his dad to understand, and if it means telling him the truth, then that's how it'll go.

John seems to get what Dean means by _important,_ though, because his expression turns stony. “I'm done with this conversation.”

“Good,” Dean says. “So am I.” 

He grabs his keys and his phone, stomps out of the house.

* * *

 

Dean sits in the Impala for twenty minutes trying to calm down.

This whole thing is ridiculous, but it's almost exactly what he expected from his father. John has never been that accepting of _anything_ he considers “outside the norm” and Cas is about as _outside the norm_ as it's possible to get. 

He just kind of thought that John would put his personal issues aside for once.

And maybe Dean's a little biased, but Cas is a nice person. He's polite when necessary, he's funny, he's loyal to the point that it's a little scary - he's a goddamn good guy, and Dean's heart breaks a little at the thought of _anyone,_ let alone his own dad, not seeing that.

He opens his phone and pulls up the Charlie's Angels group text. 

 **here come dat bi:** _anyone free for ice cream? im buying_  

He waits three minutes. The phone buzzes twice in quick succession.

 **hungry hungry hetero:** _i am literally on a roof_

 **queen of moons:** _this essay won't write itself man sorry_

He sighs and starts the car. He's halfway down the street when his phone vibrates a third time.

 **CASanova:** _pick me up and ill pay 4 my own_

Dean drives.

* * *

 

Lawrence's only gelato shop is run by the same Italian family that employ Meg Masters at their pizza restaurant next door.

The place itself is almost excessively sweet. It's decorated like a 50s milkshake bar, which Dean suspects it might have been before old Gina and her family moved in.

There are booths along the window that would probably only fit one and a half normal sized people on either side, and even then they wouldn't get away with it without their legs touching the entire time. Tall stools line a high bar and little round tables surrounded by very modern plastic chairs clutter the rest of the place. 

It's Cas’s idea to split a large fudge sundae between them. It comes in a wide glass dish, and is served with two spoons, whipped cream, and a knowing smile from their waitress. 

They sit across from each other in one of the booths, and Dean realises that they look like a couple.

Cas’s knee presses against his, firm and solid and _there,_ but not painful or anything other than comfortable.

Dean doesn't mind.

“So,” Cas says, “you wanna tell me what this is about? I only saw you, like, two and a half hours ago.”

Dean sighs, takes a big spoonful of hot fudge and vanilla ice cream. “I had a fight with my dad." 

Cas raises an eyebrow, and digs into his side of the sundae. “About?” 

“You, actually,” Dean says.

“Me?”

It's through a mouthful of ice cream and cherry syrup that Dean says, “Yeah. He doesn't like you.”

They both eat while Dean tells Cas about the argument. Some of it he paraphrases, some of it is quoted word for word, but none of it is incorrect or exaggerated, he makes sure of that.

“What are you gonna do about it?” Cas asks when their dish is three-quarters empty.

“I dunno,” Dean says, “it's not like you're gonna stop hangin’ out with us or comin’ over or anything.”

“I could,” Cas offers.

“I don't want you to,” Dean tells him, and it's the god-honest truth. He doesn't want Cas to go anywhere - after last night, he's pretty sure he wouldn't make it an entire day without seeing Cas.

The last spoonful, because Dean insists that Cas have it and Cas insists that Dean _deserves_ it, they split.

It's not as satisfying as it would be if it were whole, but Dean thinks he probably wouldn't have enjoyed it as much as he enjoys watching Cas lick his spoon clean - which sounds like a euphemism but is sadly literal.

The sundae dish is taken away the second it's empty. It's four forty-five.

Dean doesn't want to leave yet. Not when Cas is looking at him like he doesn't want to go, either.

“Is Meg working tonight?” Cas asks. “We could round up the troops. Go for friends and family discounted pizza.”

Dean smiles. “I'll find out.”

Dean busies himself with his phone and pretends not to see Cas pay their bill himself, just like he pretends he hasn't been thinking _is this a date_ for the last fifteen minutes.

 **here come dat bi:** _hey meg are you working tonight me and cas want pizza_

 **here come dat bi:** _this is an open invitation btw does anyone else want pizza for dinner_

 **megatron:** _I'm not working tonight but I do want pizza_

 **hungry hungry hetero:** _im off the roof did someone say pizza_

Cas looks up from his phone to ask Dean, “Is pizza even a word anymore?”

Dean laughs.

* * *

 

Gina’s Family Pizzeria is far cozier than her gelato shop. Where the ice cream parlor is bright colours and neon signs and sleek chrome tabletops, the restaurant is deep reds and rustic wood and dark leather seated booths.

Dean and Cas sit in the corner of their U-shaped booth, and the words _is this a date_ manage to press in on Dean's thoughts more often than he'd like.

Jo rolls her eyes when Dean snatches Cas's wallet from his hands once the bill arrives. Meg gets them an employee discount, and that's about the only reason Dean can afford to pay for Cas's food as well as his own. (“You bought the ice cream, fair is fair, Cas.”)

Cas glares at him, but it only really lasts a couple of seconds before Cas smiles - _is this a date_ \- small and barely-noticeable, and sinks into the back of his seat.

* * *

 

“Thanks,” Dean says to Cas when they're standing outside the restaurant. “For today, I mean.”

“It's no big deal,” Cas tells him. “What are friends for, right?”

Dean smiles at his shoes. “Just - I needed you and you were there. So, thanks.”

“Don't tell me you're goin’ soft on me, Winchester,” Cas says.

He touches Dean's chin and told his head back up, and Dean thinks, _this is it._ He doesn't want this to be it. He doesn't want this to be _the moment._

This is not _the moment._

Cas pulls him into a tight hug and whispers, “If you need me again, you've got me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im off on a course for the rest of july, so no update until august probably. sorry :(
> 
>  


	6. Chapter 6

Dean doesn't really talk to his dad that much for the next few days. He's still pissed enough about their sort-of fight that by Tuesday he's wishing this week would just be over with already.

Dean and Jo’s chemistry teacher springs a pop quiz on them third period. There's another in English fourth period - and then one more in Algebra after lunch.

Dean's starting to think he should've stayed in bed this morning when Cas slides him a note during their last - and blessedly multiple choice - surprise test of the day. On it is every answer to every question, followed by a tidy,  _ I noticed your paper was blank. _

Dean sends the note back when he's finished, with the - somewhat risky - addition of a small heart. Cas winks back at him.

He's glad he didn't hit snooze.

* * *

 

Dean and Jo sit in Charlie's pile of junk while she and Cas and Benny wait for Meg's brother to pick her up in his really shady looking van.

“I still can't believe she's related to that jackass,” Dean says. “How can a family raise two completely different people? He tried to stab me because he heard from some stoner that I like dick, and she's a  _ lesbian.” _

“It's weird, man, I don't know,” Jo tells him, and twists in shotgun to look out the back window. “I think I failed that chemistry test.”

Dean scoffs. “No you didn't, Michaels has a thing for you.”

“He's a  _ teacher, _ Dean,” she says. “Like I'd ever screw him in the first place, he breathes through his mouth.”

“Speaking of screwing,” Dean mutters, points to Charlie and Meg chatting at the sidewalk, standing far too close together to be strictly platonic. “I give them two months to get their shit together and fuck already.”

“Ten bucks says it's one,” Jo says.

They shake on it.

There is something in the space between them that Jo decides to leave unsaid.

Alastair Masters pulls up in a van spray painted black and Dean's immediate first thought, as it always is when he sees this van, is the child catcher from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.

“Buckle up, kids,” Charlie says once everyone is in the car, “I just got the brakes done and I'm not used to the change yet, so it's gonna get jerky up in here.”

“Beef or turkey?” Benny asks. Charlie rolls her eyes and doesn't answer.

Dean is squished in the back seat between Benny and Cas, which makes the journey to Charlie's house that little bit more uncomfortable.

Charlie wasn't wrong about the jerking. Before she got the brakes done, they were so worn away that slamming them would only bring them down a few miles per hour. She'd need to stand on the pedal to actually stop the car. Now, though, it's like the tiniest push might bring them to a screaming halt.

Which it does. On many occasions.

On each of these occasions, Dean needs an arm thrown in front of him or else he'll fly through the windshield - because Charlie may have had the brakes fixed yesterday, but she sure as shit can't afford a middle seat belt.

It's always Cas’s arm.

Dean's first instinct is to assume that Benny just can't be assed to lift his arm, then he thinks maybe Cas used to deliver pizzas, then he thinks about what Cas might look like in a delivery uniform, and then he stops thinking altogether.

“Home sweet home, fuckers,” Charlie announces after a solid five minutes of Dean not thinking about Cas in uniform. She pulls into her driveway, right behind the dead car her mother hasn't used in a decade but can't manage to sell.

Dean practically pushes Benny to the ground trying to get out into the real world, out of the progressively more uncomfortable backseat of Charlie's car.

Nymeria greets them at the door, tail wagging and tongue lolling. Dean often thinks of her as an honorary member of Charlie's Angels, if only because she shows her love in a normal way rather than gently bullying him.

“Anyone else feel like Billie’s pop quiz was just her being an asshole?” Benny asks. “I don't remember reading Macbeth.”

“That's because you have a memory like a fucking colander,” Dean says. “We did it last year.”

Jo and Dean exchange an uncomfortable glance when Cas snags Charlie's head-of-the-table spot next to Dean.

“How can I be expected to remember a year ago? I barely remember last weekend. Did last weekend happen? What day is it?"

Charlie rolls her eyes and yells from the kitchen, “It's Tuesday, it did happen, and we got pizza after Dean and Cas went on their ice cream date.”

“Are you telling people that was a date?” Dean asks Cas, with what he hopes is a flirty half-smile but is probably a goofy grin.

“Are you telling people it wasn't?”

With Dean left thoroughly flustered, Charlie returns from the kitchen with absolutely nothing.

“There is no food in this house,” she proclaims. “Who wants takeout?”

They order Chinese, and the day feels that little bit better.

 

* * *

 

On Thursday, Dean is yet again paired with Zach Milton in wrestling practice, this week for take down drills. Essentially, Dean is forced to spend an hour enduring relentless use of the words  _ fag  _ and  _ queer _ while attempting to overpower someone two weight classes above him.

Coach Crowley says that working above his weight will help in the long run, that if he can fight bigger guys, then guys his own size should be no problem.

Coach Crowley is a fucking idiot.

Milton snarls, “What, faggot? You need your fuckin’ fag boyfriend to fight all your battles?” the sixth time Dean is caught under his body weight and has to tap out.

“He's not my boyfriend,” Dean says, and starts circling Milton. “If you're gonna try to talk shit, at least get your facts straight. Since being straight is  _ oh so _ important to you.”

“The fuck did you just say?”

Milton stumbles forward and makes a vague grabbing motion. Dean dodges and continues to dance just out of Milton's reach.

“I'm just saying, man, I can't help but feel like you're projecting here. Compensating, even.”

Milton lunges again, but this time Dean is ready for him. He twists, sends an elbow into Milton's ribs, and uses the winding to help a hip throw.

Milton is on the ground, crumpled, with a face that tells Dean he'll regret the next thing he says for a while to come.

“Maybe you're the real cocksucker,” he says anyway, to hell with consequences.

* * *

 

The regret comes in the locker room once Coach Crowley lets them go for the day.

There are two other guys on the team almost as intolerant - and intolerable - as Zachariah Milton. Both of them made first string on the football team this year, both of them sit with Zachariah Milton at lunch, and both of them help Zachariah Milton corner Dean after practice.

At the same time that the ambush is a surprise, Dean kind of expected it to happen at some point.

He's packing up his bag when the first move is made.

Someone, one of Milton's friends - he can't see who, he doesn't know what's happening, what's happening? - grabs him from behind, an arm hard across his throat, and pulls him into the centre of the room. The pressure isn't enough that he can't breathe, just enough to keep him from struggling too much.

The rest of the team is gone, it's just Dean and three football players who think he's going to hell just for existing.

The first blow is struck by Milton himself, a hard punch between the ribs, followed by another three to Dean's nose, again to the ribs, a kick between the legs. Whoever has him from behind releases him, pushes him to the ground.

On all fours, bleeding from his nose and his lip, Dean speaks, “What the fuck, you guys?”

A kick to the stomach shuts him up real quick.

Every time Dean so much as twitches, an expensive shoe rams into his ribs. After five or six or thirty times, his vision starts to get blurry. His mouth tastes metallic, and his limbs have given way.

Every goddamn thing hurts, but he figures he's probably had worse from other teams at meets and tournaments.

He's lying curled on his side, without the strength to even turn away from his teammates, when the locker room door - the only way in or out - slams open against the wall. Dean doesn't move.

“You can't be in here,” Milton's voice threatens. Dean imagines him raising a bloodied hand to whoever has shown up.

“Why, because I don't have a dick? You won't either when I'm done with you, fucker.”

Dean almost sighs in relief. He'd recognise that voice anywhere.

“Who the fuck are you?” comes from one of Milton's henchmen. Gordon Walker.

“Me? Why, I'm just the girl who's about to kick your ass, sugar,” says Charlie Bradbury.

Dean has found, in his time as her best friend, that people tend to underestimate Charlie Bradbury. They don't expect her to be strong, or fast, or to have been trained in three different martial arts since she was six. They only ever expect her to be this quiet nerd girl - which is correct, except that she has never been quiet about anything in her life - and not much else.

Charlie Bradbury kicks all six feet two inches of Zachariah Milton in the face, and she isn't even warmed up.

Strong hands grab Dean, and he flinches. He's had enough, he can't take any more, he doesn't know what'll happen.

“It's just me, you're okay,” Cas says, and helps him to his feet. “Well, I mean, you're not okay, your face is really fucked up and you'll definitely have a black eye but -”

“Cas, honey, you're really not helping,” Charlie says, suddenly surrounded by what looks like the dead bodies of high school wrestlers.

“What the fuck did you  _ do,  _ Charlie? I turn around for half a second and you fucking  _ kill _ people?”

“Oh my god, shut up. Take him to the car, I'll deal with the coach.”

Cas helps Dean hobble to the door, and in his weird half-conscious state, Dean practically lets himself be carried. Not to the car, that's too far, but to the nurse’s office.

The nurse is done for the day, and the door is locked, and there's no one else around to help.

“Here's the thing,” Cas says, and he sounds uncharacteristically nervous.

_ Oh god, _ Dean thinks.

“I hate hospitals,” Cas says, and shoves a hand that's not literally holding Dean into his pocket. “I always have. I also hate being suspended.”

_ Where the fuck is this going,  _ Dean thinks.

“So, I’d appreciate if you didn't tell anyone about this. Can you stand?”

Dean nods, and Cas lets him go. He fishes something out of his pocket and crouches at the lock on the door.

Cas picks the lock, and Dean, half-dazed, half-dead, thinks it might be the coolest thing that's ever happened near him. The door clicks open.

“Nice. Okay, um. Sit down,” Cas says. “Unless that hurts. Don't do anything that hurts.”

Dean actually laughs, which hurts, because everything hurts.

“Shut up. You had me worried sick, you know that?” Cas's tone is light, but his words are really anything but.

Dean sits while Cas rummages through a first aid box for something useful. He absently wonders if Cas really _ needs  _ to be on his hands and knees in front of him, but lets the thought drift away with the rest and doesn't overthink it.

Cas returns with what's probably antiseptic wipes, some bandages, a tiny bottle of Advil, and an ice pack. He pulls another chair up, close enough that they physically can't not touch, and starts smacking the ice pack.

There's nothing much in the room but an old desk, a locked cabinet, those two chairs, and silence. Lots of silence.

“I don't have a lot of experience with this, I gotta say,” Cas tells him, “but you're probably fine.”

The wipes sting on his lip, and Dean's first instinct is to wince, but that hurts more, so he sucks it up and takes Cas’s gentle dabs. He hands Dean the ice pack.

“Put that on your eye, it'll help the swelling and might even numb the pain,” Cas says. Dean doesn't mention that he knows how an ice pack works, because he figures that Cas is just trying to fill the silence.

Cas wipes at his mouth one last time, and pulls back.

“Your lip might need stitches,” he says. “I don't know how to do stitches.”

“How did you know I was even in trouble?” Dean asks. It's the first thing he's said to Cas, and it almost comes out like an accusation.

Cas shrugs. “You were fifteen minutes later than usual, and we know you don't shower here, so we figured there might be something wrong.”

It hurts, but Dean raises an eyebrow anyway.

“I'll be honest, at most I thought you might have sprained something in practice,” Cas says. “Then Charlie reminded me about Milton, and I got like, insanely worried.”

He goes about cleaning the blood around Dean's nose.

“I remembered what Meg said about her brother trying to stab that guy, and I thought, fuck, what if you were fucking dead?”

_ Charlie didn't tell him,  _ Dean thinks.

_ Fuck,  _ I  _ didn't tell him,  _ Dean thinks.

“It was me, actually,” Dean tells him. “I'm the guy Meg's brother tried to stab.”

Cas jerks back, sits up straight. “What the fuck.”

Dean tells him everything - well, almost everything. He tells him about coming out and being accepted by most people, about Alastair Masters giving him a hard time, about Alastair Masters pulling a knife on him in the bathroom down the hall from this same office, about Garth Fitzgerald coming in and basically saving his life.

Dean doesn't tell him about the tiny part of him that thought he might've deserved it.

_ Another time,  _ he thinks.

Cas slumps in his chair. “Jesus.”

“Yeah,” Dean says.

Cas looks him right in the eye for three seconds, and Dean half-thinks this might be a Moment.

(Why would this be a Moment? His lip is busted, his nose is bloody, and he's about to get the most wicked black eye of his life. This is probably the worst he's looked in the entire time Cas has known him - and Cas has seen him cry at The Lion King. He's just given him a ridiculous sob story, he's just been  _ beaten up  _ \- )

(Why  _ wouldn't  _ this be a Moment?)

Cas goes back to cleaning Dean's nose.

(This isn't a Moment.)

“I'll fucking kill him,” Cas says.

“Cas -”

“Not only is he a homophobic fuckwad, he  _ tried to hurt you. _ ”

Cas stops cleaning Dean's nose, looks at him again.

His eyes are very blue, Dean thinks. His eyes are like jewels, like skies, like oil paintings with black frames.

They are oceans Dean would gladly drown in.

“No one else gets to hurt you, you hear me?” Cas says, finally, and looks away. “If they want to, they go through me. Or, I go through them.”

“Cas, seriously -”

“No, shut the fuck up, let me say this.”

He takes a deep breath.

“You're fucking important to me, okay?” He sounds angry about it. “To all of us, obviously, I mean, we sleep in your house every week. I haven't had a lot of friends in my time, and maybe two of them have been like Charlie or Jo or Meg or Benny - there's fucking no one like you, Dean.”

This is a Moment.

“Cas -” is all Dean gets out before Charlie slams the door open and they both leap a foot away from each other. Dean didn't realise they were so close in the first place.

“I told you to go to the car,” she says.

“And I told you to knock when I'm alone with a boy, but we don't always get what we want, Charlie,” Cas tells her.

Charlie stands proudly in the doorway.  _ Proud  _ might be the wrong word, Dean thinks.  _ Enraged,  _ maybe.

No.  _ Triumphant. _

“I told the coach to reassess his life choices,” Charlie says. “And that he's a homophobe by association and is therefore open to a hate crime lawsuit.”

“Is he?” Dean asks.

“Fucked if I know,” she says. Her eyes are wide and her face flushed.

Dean has always known that his best friend is beautiful, but right now she looks like a goddess. She looks like she could bring the world to a screaming end, and think nothing of it other than  _ that was satisfying. _

“You look like you've been yelling,” Cas says, just ask Dean thinks it.

“Thank you,” she says. “Can you do that in the car?”

* * *

 

Despite his protests, Charlie calls Dean's entire family one by one and tells them what happened. After finally admitting defeat, he notices she uses far fewer swear words with John on the phone than with Mary, and none with Sam.

“Okay. Okay. Yes. I will. Okay. See you soon, Sammy,” is the last thing she says before starting the engine first time and leaving the school. Her driving is a lot better than usual, but also much faster. Dean wonders why that is.

No one speaks. The adrenaline rush Charlie had after tearing Coach Crowley about eight different new ones has changed and become pure, unbridled rage.

Not for the first time, the phrase  _ fiery redhead  _ comes to mind.

In the backseat, Dean sits against the passenger side door while Cas hovers above him - in what one might call a “compromising position” if it weren't for the blood - and tries to do something about the bruises welling up all over his skin. There are not many options.

“Try putting the ice pack on there,” Cas says, finally breaking the silence. He touches Dean’s ribs gently, right where he took the vast majority of the kicks. Dean hisses, and his eyes lock on Cas’s.

“Maybe not,” Cas says, but doesn't make any effort to move until the car stops - slowly this time - a second later.

“We're here,” Charlie says dryly. Cas slumps back to his own side of the car. Charlie climbs out, and gently slams the door. Every move she makes is sharp and angry.

_ Here _ is Dean's house. Dean knows neither of his parents should be home yet, but there's the Impala in the driveway and Charlie talking to his mother at the door, and oh god, he really needs his mom.

“Help me out,” Dean says to Cas.

Cas has already leapt out of the car and sprinted to the other side by the time Dean has opened the door on his side. A strong and sure hand takes his own trembling one and tugs him carefully upright. The same - soft, caring, soft - hand wraps around his side and leads him to his mother.

Mary Winchester is a strong woman. This is something Dean knows, and has seen evidence of. He has seen her cry four times in his life.

Once, when Sam was born and she held him for the first time.

Once, when she had had a bit to drink and John and Sam were gone to bed and Dean thought that might be the best time to tell her that sometimes he thought about kissing boys as well as girls.

Once, when her father died.

And once, right now.

The walk from the curb to the porch feels like a mile. The distance from the first porch step to his mother's arms is hardly a millimeter. Cas’s soft hand is replaced by Mary's soft arms, and it occurs to Dean that they are soft in very different ways.

Mary is soft the way a mother should be: smoothing hair and a hug that crushes your already fragile bones but you let her give anyway, because it's a good kind of crushing. Soft in the same way as the marshmallow in your very first s’more, in the same way as your fresh sheets after a long day.

Cas is soft the way a rock is hard and the sun is hot - naturally.

“My boy,” Mary whispers, again and again, as she holds Dean there against her on the porch. “What have I let them do to you?”

* * *

 

“When your father was in the Marines I took up some first aid classes,” Mary says, “in case he'd come home hurt. I'm certified to save lives.”

John says nothing.

They're sitting around the kitchen table. Mary has taken over Cas’s job of being very gentle with Dean's face, but she actually knows what she's doing. She's got paper stitches in his lip and some kind of cast on his nose, and almost his entire torso covered in ice packs. The contents of an industrial sized first aid kit are spilled across the table, with Charlie picking through them in an effort to not look furious.

Mary's gentle touches are different to Cas’s, Dean thinks. Mary is gentle so as not to disturb anything, so she doesn't hurt her son any more than he's already been hurt, but ultimately she knows what she's doing and she knows that it'll hurt regardless.

Cas is gentle in a way that makes Dean think it might kill him to hurt him.

“There's not much I can do at this point,” Mary says. “There's nothing broken, but your ribs are definitely gonna hurt for a while.”

“Do we have any painkillers?” Dean asks, even though he doesn't want to. Even in this state, he hates to ask for help.

Mary smiles a sad sort of smile, as if she knows. “Nothing stronger than Advil, honey.”

“He can technically have 32 Advils in a day,” Cas says. It's the first time he's spoken in a long time. “He'd need to be sent to the emergency room, but he wouldn't die. Probably.”

“No emergency rooms,” Dean says.

“31 won't be as good,” Cas tells him.

“I'll take the risk.”

The room falls silent again, and the smile on Dean's face only lasts a few seconds.

The tension is weird, because Dean can't really tell what's causing it. Is it Charlie, who still looks like she might kill a man, charging the air with her unquenchable thirst for blood? Is it his father, who has the same stony look on his face? Sam, whose face is so like his mother's, just looking scared?

It's Cas. It's always Cas.

Cas, who hasn't looked away from Dean since he picked him up from the floor, who hasn't been more than an arm's length away for nearly three hours, who probably already knows how Dean feels about him.

Cas, who locks eyes with Dean now, and lets out a quiet sigh. Cas tries a smile, but it just comes out sad.

“Who did it.” John doesn't say it like a question.

“Zach Milton,” Dean says, “Gordon Walker. Dick Roman, I think.”

John doesn't speak for a while, and no one else does either.

“I want you off the team,” John says.

Dean doesn't know what to say. Of course his dad wants him away from people who actively want to hurt him - any father would - but Dean can't help but be a little surprised at the idea. It's as if he expected John not to treat this as a hate crime, like he expected him to brush it off as not being about what it is.  _ Some people are just bullies. _

“Okay,” Dean says.

* * *

 

Jo comes over after dinner. The first thing she says is, “Jesus Christ, Dean, you look like shit.”

“Thanks Jo,” Dean says. In a weird way, he means it. He's not thanking her for what she said, he's thanking her for why she said it. The mood could do with a bit of lightening.

It's nearly eight and they're in Dean's room doing nothing, just sitting on the floor and talking and trying not to break the stitches on Dean's lip.

“Meg's parents won't let her out,” Charlie says, and doesn't look up from her phone. “And Benny won't answer me. So I guess you're stuck with us for a while.”

“That’s probably the worst thing to happen to him today,” Cas says. Dean laughs, and puts his head on his shoulder. The only movement Cas makes is to shift a tiny bit closer.

Maybe it's the pain meds, but Dean decides to just let himself have this one.

“You gonna go to school tomorrow?” Jo asks. She's fiddling with a loose thread on her sweater as she sits cross-legged in front of Dean, and she sounds weirdly serious.

“I don't know,” Dean says. “Mom might keep me home. I don't know if I want to go or not.”

“You should go,” Cas says. “Take a million painkillers and wear your bruises like badges of honour. Show Milton you're not scared of him. You're like, anti-Humpty Dumpty. All the king’s horses and all the king's men  _ couldn't fucking break you.” _

Dean sits up, looks at Cas with his wild eyes and shiny piercings, and wants to kiss him so badly that it makes him ache from deep in his chest.

He doesn't.

“You're insane,” he laughs. “I'm gonna do it.”

“You know Michaels won't take this as an excuse for not having the homework done,” Jo says.

“Can I copy your answers at lunch?” Dean pleads.

Jo sighs. “Fine, but only if you let me start a rumour that you were attacked by a transformer.”

“Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know i said a lot of times that id have this chapter up "end of the month, i SWEAR" but im a terrible person and i think we both knew I was lying
> 
> next chapter is already In The Works™, and i promise it'll be less depressing than this one. no idea when it'll be up tho sorry
> 
> thank you to everyone who commented during my absence!!! i really appreciate any and all feedback and u guys really motivated me to get this done <3

**Author's Note:**

> pls don't expect updates regularly i have a very hectic school life and everything i have written is on paper
> 
> im @comhluadar-free-will on tumblr


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